


One Way or Another

by makesmewannatsss



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, Uni AU, University AU, football au, football louis, ziam - confusion/mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 208,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesmewannatsss/pseuds/makesmewannatsss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry contemplates life in another universe where things aren't the way they are. <i>Wouldn't it be nice.</i> </p><p>Or the one where Harry's contemplation becomes reality as he navigates his way through his first year at the University of Manchester with an intolerant roommate, karaoke nights with an ex-reality TV star, and an overwhelmingly obvious attraction to the closeted captain of the school's football team. Clearly, what goes around comes around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Wouldn't It Be Nice If We Were Older

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't meant to be a flashback, per se, but I wanted to set the tone for what's to come. The actual chapters should be much longer and will of course actually be in the AU. :-)

_Five more reps_. Pull-ups might be unpleasant, but this machine is worse. Harry shouldn’t have complained. _You love the pain_ , he tries to remind himself, but he isn’t having it today. No one is, really.

“Four, Harry,” Mark encourages him as he stretches out for another round on his upper body.

Harry groans and stops mid-rep, swinging his body over the side of the machine and putting his head in his hands. “Not today, Mark.”

“Harry, four more, before I make you start over, you want to get to the stadium, don’t you? I’m going easy on you.”

“I cannot focus.” He can’t, and he doesn’t understand why. Working out usually takes his mind away from whatever shit is plaguing them “behind the scenes” for the day. But Harry _cannot handle it today_. Not after this morning.

Louis had burst into the bedroom at four in the morning, fuming and going off about a phone call he had just had with Magee. “They’re fucking with me and making me look like a child,” he had lashed out. Of course, they had to ruin it. They couldn’t let Louis have one thing these days. They couldn’t let him, couldn’t let _them_ , have the most amazing night of their lives, announcing that Louis had purchased the Rovers just before the biggest concert of any of their lives.

“We cannot have One Direction directly associated with the Rovers’ image in this manner,” was their official defense. “Okay, I _understand that_!” Louis had recounted to Harry, who had been half-asleep at the time. “But why did you let us announce the press conference when this was a matter you should have brought up _months ago_?!”

“Because they can,” Harry offered back, at a loss for anything else. Nothing surprised him anymore. Nothing, since they had promised they were scaling Calder’s presence back, up to where she showed up _as a fan_ in Manchester with friends and Louis didn’t even have to see her – only for an article to be released by a “source” days later labeling Louis a child who needed to be looked after by his girlfriend. And for a meeting to be called where she was present and they were informed she would be with them through Miami.

“That’s what they said,” Louis spat out.

“What?”

“It’s what they said.” He was near tears now. Harry hadn’t seen Louis this upset in over a year. “Magee spat it out. I asked him why this simple-fucking-matter was holding us up now and hadn’t been resolved when I first told them, and he told me, ‘Because we can.’”

And in that moment Harry had felt it was full-out war. They had all thought the video would be the atomic bomb, carefully calculated and guarded so that none of the five could be directly traced back to its leakage, yet clear it was made with one purpose in mind, would be the game changer. That they would demonstrate once and for all that they deserved more than they were being given, both personally and professionally. But the past week had shown that that wasn’t the case. Their “team” was ready to fight back, however shoddy of a job they were doing.

In short – it wasn’t getting better.

“’M sorry, Lou,” Harry had mumbled. “Come get a few more hours of sleep.”

Louis fell asleep within minutes, although fitfully, but Harry had tossed and turned until seven.

“Styles!” Mark jostles Harry until he comes back to his senses – he’s tired, stressed more than ever, and still getting over his cold.

“I can’t, Mark,” Harry protests.

“It’s okay. I know. Go shower, relax, and be on your A-game tonight.”

Harry slings his t-shirt over his shoulder and starts to leave as he sees Mark tap on his phone.

“At least the sun’s out,” his trainer mutters under his breath.

“Hmm?” Harry asks, thinking that was directed to him.

“Just tweeting.”

Harry stops for a moment. “Let them know.”

“What?” Mark looks up from his phone, confusion in his eyes.

“Hashtag ‘drama,’” Harry prods. “Let them know we’re not okay.”

*

“Wemberly. Wow. Thank you for a night impossible to ever forget.” Harry hits send as they relax into the Range Rover, getting ready for a long ride through the city, taking unnecessary detours and back roads before they would finally end up at home.

“Should we drop Niall off first?” their driver, Nick, asks as he gets behind the wheel.

“Sure,” Harry mumbles as the Irishman straps in opposite him.

“This is bull,” Niall protests.

“Whatever,” is all Harry has the energy or desire to return.

“Just take me to your place, I can bunk in your spare,” Niall insists. “Mine is out of the way and it’s already a _loonngg ride_ to yours.”

Harry looks at him with gratitude. Niall’s probably the best person Harry knows, and he doesn’t deserve to deal with this. None of them do, but he thinks about Niall, and Liam, and how they genuinely love the job. They don’t need the baggage. Harry loves it too; he feels as though he was made for it, but…it’s hard. “I heard them say they have people waiting to get you back at home,” is all he can offer.

Niall blinks. “Fuck ‘em. Do I really want to be papped walking into my own home after a show and with one tomorrow?”

Harry leans back. They’re all done, he realizes. “Just take us home, Nick.”

“It’s not that I don’t love the job, the work, it all,” Niall starts rambling.

Harry’s trying to sleep.

“I know that the paps are a part of it, a big part, that I should suck it up.”

Niall should sleep too.

“But mate, we deserve a break sometimes. Well, I know we just had three months.”

 _Just_. Three months as of _March_.

“And I love the fans.”

Harry doesn’t know anyone who loves, or talks about, the fans as much as Niall. And Harry loves the fans a lot.

“I’ll take pictures with them, of course, I love it, but the paps are rude.”

Harry knows the paparazzi are rude. He took them to court.

“We’re so lucky, Harry, I just shouldn’t complain at all. But I feel bad for you. You need to get home quick.”

“Feel bad for Lou.” Harry hesitates. “Today should’ve been one of the best days of his life.”

“I know.”

“I think he’s near done.”

Niall takes a sharp breath.

Harry realizes he needs to backtrack. He didn’t mean _that_. At least he thinks he didn’t. “Not, done, done. But they’re not even beating around the bush anymore. They’re in a battle of wits, outright.”

“We’ll get through it.” Niall scoots closer to Harry, switching from the right seat to the middle, and wraps an arm around Harry.

Harry takes the comfort, leaning in to the crook of his best friend, near-brother’s, arm. “But is it worth it.” A statement, not a question. He doesn’t particularly want an answer.

Niall gives him one anyway. “Living the dream, mate.”

“Two hours in late-night London traffic to get to a home easily thirty minutes away, waking up to your partner in tears because something he earned is being downgraded for the hell of it, not being able to look at him onstage because people _don’t get it_ , or rather, they get it too much, getting fucking whored out at seventeen for someone who could almost be my mother. More.

The dream, Niall.” Harry flings his arms out dramatically, accidentally whacking Niall in the nose. “Sorry.”

Niall laughs uncomfortably. “’sokay. I shouldn’t have…you two have it different than I do. I should be thanking you for taking it like you do, you’re amazing. And Harry, you and Louis do great. –”

“Thanks, Ni.”

“’M not done, Harry. You two are making a name for yourselves. You are made for this life, and Louis is making this life so it’s made for him. If that makes sense, maybe? You’re gonna be the next power couple. You’re gonna rule the world, mate.”

Harry pauses. Niall is a good guy, he is. And also probably a little drunk. “Thanks,” he says again, and lets himself curl into Niall’s side and relax a bit.

They’ll make it through. He knows it – there was never any doubt, at least not much. But _is it worth it_? _Wouldn’t it be nice_ , Harry bitterly thinks to himself.

And he _knows_. It stings to admit, because Niall is right – he was made for this world – but he just _knows_. If he could be handed these people right here, in a different universe, he would take it. If he could live a quiet life with Louis, have a baby, or two, or five, if he could go pubbing with Niall and play FIFA with Liam and go to the theatre with Zayn…he’d take it.


	2. 1: Then We Wouldn't Have to Wait So Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I forgot to throw this in earlier, just a disclaimer - obviously I don't own any of the 1D brand. Just trying to have some fun this summer. And the the chapter title is from "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by the Beach Boys, which I also have no claim upon.
> 
> Let me know what you think! :)

 “Mum,” Harry grunts as he tries to send a not-so-subtle hint to his mother that she should be getting a move on and leave him to settle in his dormitory alone. Three hours after arriving at the University of Manchester and he’s quite sure that she’s helped his roommate, who hasn’t even arrived yet, unpack.

The bed is made – thankfully, he was able to acquire a new bedspread set, leaving the ages-old baby-blue one back at home and replacing it with a jet black comforter dotted with silver music notes. He likes it. The wall is now peppered with an array of posters from the Rolling Stones to the homemade poster that Matty had jokingly given him of White Eskimo one Christmas. He likes that too. The desk and closet are tidy, but it’s only because his mother has been procrastinating on leaving so long she that all of his new school supplies are opened and placed where she sees fit. They aren’t likely to stay there for long.

“You’re so big now, Harry,” his mother says, sitting gently on the bed opposite his. “Just yesterday you were playing in your band, running around, playing football..”

Gemma laughs. “ _Trying_ to play football, Mum.” She leans against Harry’s dresser, making herself at home.

 _Can they get out._ Maybe he should be sadder, bittersweet like his mother. He’s not, though. He doesn’t like seeing her sad, but all he has on his mind is being on his own, getting his family to leave so he can make his own way and, you know, not associate this bedroom with his mother and sister for forever and a day. That’s the last thing he needs.

He sends Gemma a strangled, plea-filled look. He would hate for his roommate – he thinks his name is Jeff – to waltz in to a stranger’s mother sitting on his bed in a crying mess.

“Mum, it’s time.” His older sister begins to gently guide their mother toward the door.

Harry follows and once they cross the door he pulls his mother and sister into a hug. “I’ll come home some weekend, don’t worry. Love you. Tell Robin I’ll miss him too.”

Anne is already sobbing. “Baby…”

Gemma pats them both sympathetically, giving Harry a knowing look. “Mum.”

Anne continues.

“Mum,” Harry prods.

Gemma grows impatient and finally says what both children are thinking. “Mother, he’s not even an hour’s drive away. You can come up on Saturday –”

Harry hastily interrupts, saying, “Or, y’know, like I said, I’ll come. She doesn’t need to go out of her way. Doesn’t need to come up on _Saturday_.”

Gemma laughs in a way that only older sisters can. “And I’m not horrendously far either, we’ve got Harry cornered. He’ll be fine. Like I said, not even an hour.”

Anne pulls herself together, giving Harry a final peck on the cheek as she backs away toward the lift. “Less than an hour!” are her parting words to Harry.

“See ya Mum!” Harry heads back into his _temporarily_ immaculately organized room. He flops onto his bed and exhales loudly, taking a moment to relax and glance around at his new place. _His place_. He feels relief and excitement that he didn’t know was bottled up inside of him until now. It’s not even that he wants to get out, get wasted, and go wild right this moment. He’s just happy that everything fell together, that he got to leave home and go to university like he’d planned. Step one of Harry Is an Adult Now, done.

After playing around on his phone for nearly an hour he gets up and pokes his head out of the door. Is he the only one here? He knows he heard other people shuffling around when he was getting his things sorted with his family.

He was so eager to get to Manchester and begin his new life that he didn’t have much planned beyond going to classes and meeting people from there. He knows a few people here from Holmes Chapel, but there’s no one he’s particularly close to. His roommate doesn’t seem to have arrived yet, and, well. Classes are quite a few days away. What do you do in your first days of uni?

He hears a guitar strumming in the room kitty corner from his own. _Music_. Now _there’s_ something Harry’s familiar with. He hesitates for a few moments but steps toward the door and knocks.

He hears the person inside shuffle around. The door opens and a brunette-blonde and blue-eyed boy is on the other end. “Hi, uh, Ian?”

At least Harry’s not the only one missing a roommate. “Erm, no, I’m Harry. I live across the hall.” He points back to his room with probably a little too much gusto. He exactly had to make friends in years; he’s still a bit rusty.

“Oh, well, I’m Niall!” Harry hears the Irish accent come out. Niall extends his hand and Harry takes it.

“You’re good.” He gestures to the guitar now discarded on the bed by the door.

Niall lights up but says, “I play a little. Do you?”

“Not guitar, but I was in a band for a while. We called it White Eskimo,” he admits, blushing at the name. “I was the lead singer.”

Niall grins again. “Sick, man!”

They have an  awkward moment when Harry isn’t quite sure whether he should go somewhere else or something until Niall ushers him in. “Make yourself at home mate, as you can see my roommate is taking his time getting here. Is yours moved in?”

Harry sits on the floor opposite Niall’s bed. “Noo…I mean, it’s probably a good thing as my mum only left a while ago…it took forever to get her out.”

Niall nods and falls onto his bed, taking his guitar back up and strumming softly. “I got here and set up pretty quick. You build it all up in your head, then once it’s done you’re not quite sure what to do.”

Harry likes this guy. “Did anyone come up with you?”

Niall shakes his head. “’M not really coming from home. I finished college there – small town, Mullingar, in Ireland – a year ago and moved to London on me own for a gap year. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. Almost tried music, but decided to go the academic route. I mean, it’s what my family preferred, and a bit more solid, y’know? I guess you do.”

“Yeah.” They settle into a comfortable banter for a while, trading life stories. Niall’s degree is in economics, Harry’s is in business and sociology. Niall has an older brother, Greg, to match Gemma. He tells Harry about how his picking up and moving to London at 18 was so huge for his family. Harry’s parents had split up too, and he understands why Niall would want the distance. Unfortunately when you’re from England to begin with it’s hard to get that solid separation. As Gemma had so lovingly pointed out…it’s less than an hour’s drive home.

Harry tells Niall about the gigs he played with his band, how they split up a year ago a load of personal crap went down between the bassist and drummer. “Came down to a girl, I think, in the end.” Harry paused. “I actually don’t know that. It was one of those fights where what happened didn’t matter, it just got bad enough and heated enough that you couldn’t go back.”

“D’you miss it?” Niall asks, still strumming chords on his well-used, and clearly well-loved, guitar. “The band, I mean, not the fighting, obviously.”

Harry pauses, not wanting to seem cavalier after building up this bond with him. “I do. I feel happiest when I’m performing, definitely. And that group was important to me when we had it, for sure. Oh, you should see the poster I’ve got on my wall, my cousin gave it to me one Christmas, we’re all quite funny. But I guess we never clicked like I imagined I’d click in a band, if you know what I mean? They were good friends, but in the end they turned more into coworkers. And then it imploded on us, so that’s that I guess.”

“Yeah, I was always torn on whether or not I actually wanted music for my career. That’s why I’m here. I almost auditioned for X Factor once but couldn’t make it to the stadium that day.”

Harry smiles. “I almost auditioned too, but I backed out because of nerves. My mum tried to make me go but I wouldn’t have it. That kind of started the discontent in my group too, they didn’t like that I was going to up and leave them if a solo career came my way.”

Niall shrugs. “You can’t exactly say no, though.”

“That’s how I felt, yeah.”

They continue to talk back and forth until the door opens and the real Ian enters, luggage and parents in tow. They get right to work unloading everything and Harry stands to leave, not wanting to get in the way.

“Niall, did you want to grab a bite? I was just going to get my wallet quickly and see if this place’s dining establishments are any good.”

Niall’s face perks up once more at the mention of food and he follows Harry back to his own room. Before they leave, he makes a point to admire the “great piece of fine commemorative artwork” that is the White Eskimo poster hanging over Harry’s bed.

*

They hit it off like that, spending the next two days wandering around both Manchester’s campus and the city itself, taking in their newfound freedom. Or rather, Harry’s newfound freedom from home – Niall is more adjusting to life outside of the insanity that he describes as London. Harry is eternally grateful that his new friend has a car. Not a sleek or stylish one, of course, as he had been surviving off of a waiter’s salary and the occasional guitar-playing on the pavement for the past year, but it’s a car that doesn’t have them confined to school grounds like many of their peers are.

“What’s me number again, mate?” Niall hollers a little too loudly as they step off the lift, finally making it back to their dormitory after spending their Saturday night trying out the university’s pubs. Neither of them were having the stairs after the rounds and shots they’d taken.

“Why ya asking me…” Harry trails off as he leans against his own room with a smirk.

“If you’re…” Niall squints at the metal plate by Harry’s shoulder, then continues, slowly circling himself in the middle of the hallway, “Flat 322, and I’m…” He walks up and down slowly, dragging his finger along each numbered plate on the side of the hall opposite Harry. “Across from you, this way…” He angles himself and juts his arms out, seeming to hope that muscle memory would direct him to his room.

Harry is in stitches at this point. Drunk Niall is a Niall that Harry is quite entertained by. “Good thing ya didn’t bring a girl back, mate.” He sits down in front of his doorway rather ungracefully.

Niall flips around to Harry indignantly, immediately losing his train of thought concerning the whereabouts of his living space. “I almost did, and you know it. Just, you know, decided that I’d get settled here in me own life before bringing a lady into it.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “A lady, of course.” He stretches out his legs and tries to reach and poke at Niall’s ankle with the toe of his boot just as a group of girls get off of the lift and stumble across them. Harry tries to pull his legs in quickly but fails, accidentally making his floormates trip and scatter all over the place.

“Sorry!” he calls after them. “’M not…thinkin’ right.”

They laugh in response and wave him off. Harry smiles and turns his attention to Niall who’s eyes are nowhere near Harry’s. “Stop it! Not very nice.”

Niall whips his head back and sputters. “C’mon mate…d’you think…”

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes again. “A lady, of course,” he repeats.

Niall huffs as he stumbles the five steps he has to take to cross to Harry and sits down beside him. “It’s hard to pull a girl, y’know. Especially now, when everyone else is moving back in and you might accidentally be dancing up against a third year and she somehow just _knows_ you’re younger, and you come out the fool.”

“Harder to pull a guy. ‘Cause you got all that ‘Oh, look at the widdle first year’ crap, but then if you pick a straight guy who’s, y’know, a bit of a dick, – er, no offense – it can get…bad.”

Niall pats him on the shoulder. “None taken. It would be an honor to be pulled by you, Mr. Harry Styles.”

Harry grins. “Thanks mate. Appreciate it.” He gets up, cracking a thousand joints in the process, and turns to his door. “Now pardon me, I’m off to sleep. And don’t, like, bother me until, I dunno, three or summin. Gotta sleep this off.”

Niall reacts quickly, grabbing at Harry’s ankles as he stands. “Don’t leaaaavvveee me heeeerrreee, Harold! Harry Harry Harry Harold. I can’t find me room. I’ll waste away in this here hall and you’ll wake up and go to the toilet to find me right here drowned and choked in me own vomit.”

Niall’s full of nicknames when he’s drunk. Harry shuffles his feet around, mumbling “Get it off! Get it off!” and hears the snickers coming from others on the floor. He supposes they look quite absurd. He makes to grab his keys and open the door. “Then if you’re too wasted to find your damn bedroom – is this going to be a regular occurrence? – come crash on my floor. Also my name isn’t Harold.”

Niall literally jumps up at the invitation. “You’re Harold to me now, mate. No takes-backs. Can I sleep in the Phantom’s bed?” The ‘Phantom,’ AKA Jeff, was still absent last they had checked, even after the rest of the floor was pretty much all accounted for.

“That’s rude, no,” Harry mumbles to Niall as they stumble into the room, almost tripping over boxes and bags that weren’t there earlier. _Alright, then,_ he thinks as he bypasses the light switch, not wanting to leave a bad first impression on his newly-arrived roommate.  Jeff’s portion of the room, closest to the door, is an outright mess. “Yeah, just bunk with me.”

Niall squeezes him into a hug as they fall giggling onto his too-small bed. “My brother!” he attempts to whisper.

Harry had always heard that you made your best friends in your first few days at uni. He hopes that it’s true.

*

Harry feels the sun. Harry smells the sun. Harry tastes the sun. Christ, Harry is quite sure he can _hear_ the sun, but he absolutely refuses to see it. Scratch that, he can’t see it. His eyes won’t open. Judging by how the rays of sunlight which are probably just _streaming_ through the window by his bed, it’s quite early in the morning. Given how hungover he is and that it’s likely before noon, Harry refuses to give into the sunlight.

That is, until he senses someone hovering over his bed. He feels this person’s stare bore into him and disapproval emanates from their presence.

The sun is calling.

Harry blinks awake, trying to focus on whoever’s before him. He realizes that it’s probably Jeff, even though he has no idea what he looks like.

“Hello?” he croaks out, shifting up. His movement jostles Niall next to him – oh yeah, he’s there too – and as the sun ceases to blind him he tries to get a proper look at his roommate.

“’M Harry.” He sticks his hand out, but the other man only shifts about uncomfortably.

Harry lets his hand fall back into his lap before he looks to his left, and _oh yeah_ , this probably all looks a bit odd. And rude, which is precisely what Harry was hoping to avoid last night. Taking someone back to your flat before you even meet your roommate, yes, that’s precisely the way to kick off what’s supposed to be a close friendship.

Jeff sticks his hands in his pockets – how in the world is he already dressed? – and nods. “Jeff.” He shifts around some more. “Um, were we put in a triple last minute?”

“Uh, no.” Harry runs his hand through his curls, trying to stave off his throbbing headache with the powers of concentration. Niall moves, starting to wake up. “He couldn’t find his room last night. I think.”

Jeff blinks.

“He lives across the hall.” Harry gives Niall a shove to get him up faster. “Yeah, that sounds real dumb, but we were really pissed last night.” Under his breath he adds, “Niall, get up.”

“Still pissed,” is all Niall’s groggy voice contributes to the conversation from halfway under the comforter.

Harry shoves him again. He finally sits up, Harry realizing – and now Jeff too – that he had taken his shirt off at some point. He moves his leg around under the covers and realizes that his friend is only in his pants.

 _Shit_.

Niall looks from Harry, to Jeff, to Harry again. “We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re thinkin,’” he offers with a lopsided smile.

Jeff winces at the word.

 _Double shit_. It appears that Harry has a prude on his hands.

And then Niall gets up, revealing his barely-clad self to the both of them. He doesn’t even wear boxers like all other teenage lads Harry’s shared a bed with – which, really, isn’t that many. He’s in tiny, skin-hugging black things. Jeff averts his eyes, mumbling, “Didn’t need to see that…”

“Reckon I can find my room now?” Niall jokes, pulling his clothes back on.

Harry laughs and swings his legs around the side of his bed. There’s no way he’s going back to sleep with this little situation hanging in the air.

“Time for me first ever walk of shame!” Niall announces, trying to clear the air as he brushes past Jeff, but the sarcasm appears to be lost on him. He pointedly flinches when Niall makes the contact necessary to reach the door, and again as he whips around and calls to Harry. “Mate, food, later?”

Harry nods in return. After Niall makes his exit, he and Jeff sit in silence for a few moments. “Hope we didn’t disturb you coming in last night. We tried out the pub a few blocks down and got a bit carried away.”

“I slept through it all.”

Harry blinks. Better bite the bullet. “Nah, really, we were really just wasted. I mean, it’s quite rude to bring someone back for sex when you don’t know if your roommate’s there or not. I didn’t.”

Jeff nods slowly. “Mkay, mate. I just really don’t know any straight blokes who crash like that.”

Harry internally rolls his eyes. “Well, Niall didn’t mind it.” He gets up and begins to rummage around for his toothbrush and a towel. Yes, he managed to mess up the beautiful organization his mother had made of his room in two days flat. He can still smell the beer on him, though, and hopefully cleaning up a bit will take the edge off of his headache. Which is out in full force now.

He feels Jeff’s eyes bore into him after he omitted himself from that last statement. Too bad. He’s been out in Holmes Chapel for over a year now and wasn’t about to shut himself back into the closet. Needless to say, it wasn’t a very fun or a very healthy place for him to be.

However, he can’t help but come to the realization that he may have a homophobe on his hands as well as a prude. Fantastic. Utterly fantastic. Exactly what he needs in his first year away from home.

Harry slams his dresser drawer shut with too much frustration. “You got here okay?” he asks as he grabs a bar of soap from the vanity.

Jeff shrugs. “Yeah, just figured I didn’t need to be here too early. More time at home and all.”

Harry nods, not sure what else to say, and heads to the showers. Great start indeed.

*

They sit in the dining hall that night – the night just before the semester starts – each taking the piss out of the shoddy food choices available.

“It’s okay, I ‘spose,” Niall says through a mouthful of steamed vegetables.

Harry grunts in response, and then looks up. “Let’s _do something_ , Niall.”

His friend only looks at him quizzically. “Well, technically, we’re doing something right now.”

“No, like, go out.”

Niall cocks an eyebrow. “I’m here for the social side as much as you mate, but I have to be in a classroom at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. And it’s best I’m in my own bed tonight,” he chuckles.

Harry shifts in his seat. “He’s weird.”

“Did my tight arse make him uncomfortable?”

Harry laughs, a bit hollowly. “I think we both did. Then he said he arrived late because he wanted to _spend more time at home_.”

Niall shudders. “Ya got me, then. But we’re not drinking tonight.”

Harry shakes his head. “I know. And this might sound dumb, don’t laugh at me, but there’s this first-year event in the commons tonight, I think it’s karaoke…”

“Yes!” Niall butts in. “Oh, mate, did you hear? That kid from the X Factor a while back is in our year. He auditioned when we almost did. Liam, I think. He might turn up there and we could hear him!”

“Yeah, sure. What’s he doing at uni, though? If it were me I’d be, like…jetsetting everywhere. Making friends, connections, records.”

Niall laughs. “That’s assuming you’re doing well enough for all of that, though.”

“Fair point.”

Niall shovels another forkful of food into his mouth. “The rice is too hard. What time is this thing?”

“Let me check.” Harry unlocks his phone and flips to the photo album were he’d saved a picture of the flyer. “Eight, so we have twenty minutes.”

Niall downs his water. “Perfect, let’s find this joint.”

They walk into one of the university club rooms ten minutes later and find that it’s still being set up by some older students. Harry looks around awkwardly and checks his phone again to confirm the time. “It says eight,” he mumbles to Niall.

They slink out unnoticed at Niall’s suggestion that they hang around in the hall for a few minutes. “Well, we’re kinda early. And if students are running it it’ll probably start late too.”

Harry pokes him and nods his head toward the stairwell. “You’re good, mate.”

Sure enough, the X Factor not-winner Niall had mentioned earlier is making his way up the staircase. He has an oddly Bieber-esque haircut but seems a level less cocky than the pop star – though his head is held high, both of his hands are stuffed in his pockets. Before Harry thinks to stop staring, he heads toward them.

Harry can feel Niall bouncing beside him, barely able to restrain himself.

“Are you waiting for the karaoke event too?” he asks as he approaches them.

Niall nods vigorously. “Yes, er, they’re still setting up, we think, we’re just waiting out here.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “I’m Niall,” as he sticks his hand out.

“Liam Payne.” He takes Niall’s hand and turns to Harry.

“’M Harry.”

“Do you both sing?” Liam asks them.

“A bit. I was in a band for a while.”

He nods his head in response as Niall claps his hand around Harry’s shoulder. “He was the lead singer, they played gigs. I mean, it’s what he tells me. I sing a bit too, I’m more of a guitarist, but karaoke is fun.  By the way, you’re quite talented, I always voted for you on the show.”

Liam smiles somewhat bashfully. “Thanks mate. It was fun.”

“You’re still signed to a label though, right?” Niall asks.

“On a bit of a hiatus, I guess. Wanted to get my uni years in while I could.”

They nod, and Liam peers around the corner and checks his phone. “Nearly eight now, I say we go in?” Niall and Harry shrug. Liam heads in, Niall follows him, and Harry follows Niall.

The chairs are properly arranged now and filling up. Someone is up on the makeshift stage still fumbling around with electrical cords and another student is going back and forth from the two television screens that appear to be serving as lyric projectors, seemingly wanting to get their angles just right as he stops and shakes his head every few seconds.

“Sick tats,” Liam whispers under his breath, indicating the lad at the screens.

He turns around, now looking like he’s trying to get the view the performers will have of the audience. “Hi there.” He notices the three first-years. “Have a seat, anywhere, we’re getting a few last minute things sorted.”

Harry has to pee, of course. He stays standing, trying to find the right moment to excuse himself.

“Need help?” Niall asks the man up front as he shuffles into an aisle, Liam behind him.

“No, no worries, we’re just waiting on someone.” He calls past the audience to the student working the sound board. “Mel, have you seen him? He’s late. He’s fucking late; again, he told me he’d be here for eight.”

The girl on the board sighs. “Do not know, Zayn.”

The lad called Zayn jogs past Harry and whispers frantically to Mel, although Harry can hear. “He’s presenting, I can’t present, it’s his thing, not mine.”

Harry huffs, poking Niall in the shoulder. “Headed to the loo for a minute, be right back.”

Niall breaks from his conversation with Liam and nods. “Hurry back! Gonna be sick!”

He sidles up to Zayn as he leaves the room, asking, “Can you point me to the toilet?”

Zayn looks up, clearly stressed. “Yeah, left then right. Do me a favor and if you see anyone too relaxed for his own damn good tell him to get his arse to 429.”

“Sure thing.”

Harry finds the toilet quickly enough and relieves himself. After washing his hands, he backs toward the hand dryer and the door crashes open. A sweaty bundle of chaos stumbles in and Harry bumps into him instead, accidentally knocking him into a stall door.

Harry stares blankly, hands dripping wet. “Oops.”

The other man blinks back, stooping to pick up the clothes that had flung from his rucksack. “Hi…Uh, I mean, my bad. In a bit of a hurry.”

They pause for a moment, looking at each other, until it hits Harry that he should help him pick up the mess. He leans down to grab the clothes, taking in the person he just body-slammed into a door. He’s in a football kit, cleats and all still on. His fringe is stuck to his forehead in sweat and, looking down at his own hands, Harry gets that he’s probably trying to change into presentable clothing.

He hands him a pair of jeans and a single trainer. “Sorry, again.”

The football player smirks. “Didn’t catch it the first time.”

Harry blinks, simultaneously amused and cross. “Then just, ‘Sorry’?”

He takes the clothes and smiles a little more genuinely this time. “Messing with you, thanks, it’s okay.”

Harry gets up and dries his hands, watching as the mystery man shuts himself into a stall and start flinging his kit up, back into a rhythm of chaos. Harry gulps. As he starts to leave he’s stopped by his voice calling over the door.

“Hey, you still here?”

“Yes…”

“Are you by any chance headed to fresher karaoke night?” His ankles wrangle into the black skinny jeans from the gap under the door.

“I am.”

“Find Zayn for me, he’s got a weird blonde quiff and thinks he has a sleeve on his right arm. Tell him that Louis said he’ll be right there, he’s just making himself presentable for the young’uns.” He – _Louis_ – slips on a pair of black Vans.

 _Young’uns_. Was that necessary? “Uh, sure, no problem.” Harry slides out from between the door and jamb and hears a “Thanks mate!” as he walks away.

He re-enters the karaoke room to find that it’s filled up quite a bit in the past five minutes. Niall sees him and waves him down to his saved seat. He signals that he’ll be a minute as he passes up to the front where Zayn is clearly stalling as he holds a microphone, but is talking to someone who’s slid under a table.

“Zayn?”

He looks up. “Yeah?”

“Louis, uh, says he’ll be right here. He’s just making himself presentable.”

Zayn exhales and lets the microphone fall onto the table, producing feedback for the whole room to hear. “Thank _god_. And thanks for actually finding him.”

Harry shrugs and heads to his seat.

Niall and Liam lean toward him curiously. “You okay mate?” Niall asks.

“Just the loo.”

“What’d ya say to him?” He indicates Zayn with his head.

“I, uh, ran into his missing partner.”

Soon enough Louis – _the man from the_ loo _,_ Harry thinks, inwardly laughing at his own, yet admittedly terrible, pun – comes darting in. His rucksack is hanging off of one shoulder, and he’s wearing a navy and white striped t-shirt with a beanie the same dark blue to match the clothes Harry that saw in the toilet.

He immediately snatches the microphone from the table Zayn left it on and comes to life as his rucksack falls to the floor beside the table.

“Hello freshers!” he calls to the crowd, immediately grabbing their attention. “It is now…eight twelve, and we are ready to roll! Many thanks for staying around, just ran back from footie practice, we are happy to welcome you here to the University of Manchester!”

Applause. Harry claps and laughs. Louis is animated, to say the least.

He continues his introduction, saying, “Louis ‘the Tommo’ Tomlinson here, twenty, from Doncaster. Like I said, I play for our footie team and I cannot wait to hear you serenade me with your lovely, young voices tonight. And this here is my best mate –”

He passes the microphone to Zayn with an expectant look. Zayn rolls his eyes and quickly spits out, “Zayn Malik, nineteen, Bradford.”

Louis snatches the microphone back and shoots Zayn a disappointed look. Harry looks to his right and sees Liam futzing around on his phone and Niall laughing at the two emcees onstage with glee.

“Right then, well, let us get on with it. According to the university, tonight is the night for all of you to ‘get to know your best mates for the next three years.’ I’d counter that it’s the night for you to get your embarrassments over with if you haven’t done so already. Quite important.

Now, I suggested to Zayn earlier that we do a little duet to kick things off but he refused.” He gives Zayn another pointed look which is quickly returned.

“Any takers to start? If you have a song you want to do, please, go right for it. We have a lot in our library.”

Liam shoots up. “I’m ready!”

“Your name?”

He makes his way to the front of the room and stands confidently beside Louis, taking the microphone. “Liam Payne.” Immediately, all of the ladies in the room start screeching and chattering in delight. Liam grins.

Louis laughs. “Though you looked a bit familiar. Which of your hits will you serenade us with tonight?” Harry could swear that he detects a hint of sarcasm in there.

“Let’s go with _Cry Me a River_.” Liam preemptively takes his signature performance stance.

“Giving the old audition a go, I see,” Louis teases as he and Zayn step off of the stage.

Liam kills it, of course – Harry always considered him a bit of a vocal powerhouse when he watched the few episodes of X Factor that he did in 2010. He had always felt shame at not being able to make himself audition that one morning and it ended up coloring his view of the show.

Liam is met with a hearty round of applause and a few standing ovations. Niall looks absolutely starstruck.

“Think we can call him a friend, Harry?” he whispers before Liam finishes his bow and takes his seat with them. Harry shrugs.

Niall slaps Liam on the back. “Good job, mate.”

“Was fun,” Liam replies, smiling.

The night passes with ease. Harry has to stop himself from grinning every time Louis opens his mouth, or makes a funny face during a performance, or banters with Zayn. He’s an entertaining lad.

Niall sings a rendition of the Macarena, of all things, and even manages to get a few people on their feet and laughing along with the dance. Harry’s the first to get up, of course.

It’s near ten when Louis announces that it’s time to wind down. “Last song, folks. We’ve all got class tomorrow, like it or not. I won’t judge you if you aren’t the most regular attendee but I highly recommend keeping up the front for the first few weeks at least. So who’s up?”

Niall prods Harry. “Go, mate.”

Liam leans behind Niall. “You’re the only of us who hasn’t, give it a go. You said you were in a band, right?”

“The lead singer!” Niall interjects, reminding him.

Harry shifts in his seat. Might as well. He had, of course, intended to get up there in the beginning, but… the intimidating and charmingly attractive footie boy had changed that.

“Anyone?” Louis calls to the crowd, which looks more than a bit tired after everything. His eyes search for someone to call on, falling on Harry’s group, as he’s being continually prodded and cheered on as he gets up to go.

“Look at you, Curly, doing me another favor. Get on up here.”

Zayn snickers.

“What’s your name by the way?”

“Harry Styles,” he says without thinking – the only other person who had introduced themselves by their full name was Liam.

He can tell Louis picks up on it by the half-smile he gives him. “Well, Harry Styles, what are you going to sing for us?”

“You choose.” He grins into the microphone.

Louis gives him a look and saunters over to Zayn, who’s seated at the laptop with the music library.

“How’d you find him, anyway?” Zayn asks Harry as Louis takes over the mouse and keyboard.

“Yeah, Harreehhhh, how’d ya meet me?”

Harry laughs and subtly covers the microphone. “I _met you_ in the toilet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't mean to bring all five in in one chapter. It just kind of happened. ;)


	3. And Wouldn't It Be Nice to Live Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. :-)

Harry sighs, pushing his chair back with one hand and messing with his hair with the other. “The supply curve therefore indicates that…”

One really shouldn’t be reading economics text at ten-thirty in the evening. Harry’s trying to be a good student, he really is – four days into the semester and he isn’t behind on anything yet. Not that that’s much to brag about in the long run, but it does give him a one up over Niall.

Speak of the devil. Someone’s pounding on his door. “’S open!”

Niall barges in, rucksack in hand. He looks from Jeff’s empty side of the room to Harry. “Where is he?”

Harry shrugs. “Class, maybe? I don’t know, I don’t really care.”

Niall drops his bag on the floor as he flings himself onto Harry’s bed across the room. “Not class, got out half an hour ago and it was the last block.”

“Okay, then,” Harry mumbles. “You have a weird schedule, seven thirty in the morning and nine at night?”

“Don’t judge me,” Niall whines, writhing around and messing up Harry’s comforter. “I had a lapse in error and chose courses based on what I thought I wanted to learn instead of when I wanted to sleep.” He sits up. “Do you see him at all?”

Harry absentmindedly glances over at his roommate’s bed. They’ve spoken once, maybe twice since that first morning. He tried to engage him in conversation one time but it lasted probably five minutes before Jeff tapered it off. “Yeah, sometimes. He doesn’t talk much, though. He probably thinks he’s going to catch the gay.”

Niall snorts. “That’s his problem.”

Harry closes his textbook. “Right, but I have to live with it.”

Niall shifts awkwardly, tucking Harry’s pillow under his arm. “Sorry mate. I don’t…I wouldn’t know, you’re right, I can’t imagine how that is.” He gives Harry a gentle shove. “My bed is always open, if you can stand my kicking and cuddles again. Ian doesn’t give a fuck.”

Harry smiles. This kid, he swears. “Might do that.”

Niall switches the pillow to his other arm. “Have you seen Liam around again? We should, like, try and recruit him into hanging with us. I liked him, did you like him?”

“He’s in my calculus class, I’ve been meaning to mention it to you. He said hi yesterday. And yeah, he seems cool. Want me to talk to him tomorrow?”

Niall bounces. “Yes, do that. Not that I don’t love spending my time with you and only you, but we should broaden ourselves.” He spreads his arms to make his point, dropping Harry’s pillow on the ground in the process. “Oops.”

Harry smirks inwardly, thinking of his run-in with the emcee from karaoke night a few days ago. Louis. “What did you want me to ask him to do?”

“Oh, I know.” Niall picks the pillow up and sits on it.

“Hey, I sleep on that thing you know.” Harry tugs the pillow out from under Niall’s arse and gets up to shove it in his closet. “I’ve only known you a week, but I do know that your farts stink.”

Niall crosses his arms and lays back on the bed. “Wasn’t gonna fart.”

Harry gets back in his chair and shoves his textbook back onto the shelf. “It’s my head, mate, my head. Did you read the econ chapter?”

Niall squints at him. “No.”

Harry laughs. “Then my question is irrelevant. What were you going to say before I oh-so-rudely took your fart cushion away from you?”

“Right, with Liam. There’s a football game tomorrow night. We should go.”

 _Football game_. Instead of jumping like he wants to, Harry tries to play it cool. “Why do they hold football games on Friday nights?”

“Don’t ask me. It can’t end that late, we’ll have time for other stuff. Ask Liam to come with us, though.” He gets up, snatching Harry’s pillow from the closet and tossing it back onto his bed before he picking up his rucksack and opening the door. “Also, you know, you can see that footie player who emceed the karaoke again.” Niall smirks before he leaves.

“Was it that obvious?” Harry calls after him.

“To me and Liam both,” comes the response, followed by an evil, brotherly cackle.

*

Harry might not have a class as early as Niall, but after his second section of calculus he knows that nine-thirty is too early for complex maths. He grabs Liam by the strap of his messenger bag as they exit the lecture hall.

“Hey man.”

“Hi Harry. What’s up?”

“Niall and I would like to cordially invite you to join us in the stands at the football game tonight.”

Liam nods vigorously. “Yes, sure thing. What time is it?”

“Um, I’ll get back to you. Niall told me about it.”

“Yeah, sounds good – let me give you my number.” He holds out his hand for Harry’s phone, which Harry then hands him. “Grab breakfast with me?”

“Sure.”

They sit in the dining hall – thankfully, the breakfast offered isn’t as insufferable as the rest of the meals served. With toast, eggs, and sausage, Harry can almost close his eyes and pretend it’s his mother’s cooking.

He looks at Liam for a minute – if he hadn’t seen how at ease he was with a crowd and the microphone the other night, he wouldn’t have guessed that he’s coming down off of a reality show-induced high. “Can I ask you something, mate?”

“Go for it,” Liam mumbles through a mouthful of cereal. He looks up at Harry expectantly.

“You said you’re on a hiatus from work…but, I saw you perform, you still have it and the girls went nuts for you. What made you step back?” He pauses, then hastily adds, “Sorry if it’s too forward.”

Liam shakes his head, letting the spoon clink back into the bowl. “Nah, don’t worry. I mean…it’s all a bit complicated, I guess. Seemed very straightforward at first. I auditioned at fourteen, got cut before the live shows, but Simon told me to come back after I finished my GSCEs. So I did. Then I made it through and everything, and, y’know, I didn’t win, but I like to think I did quite well.”

Harry nods.

“Got a record deal –”

He interrupts Liam’s story for a moment. “It’s quite good. I, uh, never purchased it but Niall loaned it to me a few days back and it’s great.”

Liam smiles, genuinely. “Thanks mate. So I made the record, and it did well for a bit. This all went down about a year ago. I toured the UK but couldn’t really sell venues through the rest of Europe or America. And it stopped after that, I guess.”

“That’s it?”

Liam looks down and gives the base of the table a nudge with his feet. “Nope. To be perfectly honest, I don’t mesh with the industry. I didn’t part on bad terms with anyone, and technically I’m still under a contract – I owe the label another record, if they want me to put one out – but I broke the one with the management company. Won’t be going back to them. And, like, everyone I came across…I didn’t get the scene. I wanted it to be for me, because I really do enjoy the fan service and the interviews and all. But I don’t fit with the bigger picture.”

Harry doesn’t quite understand, but he figures he probably can’t.

“Does that answer your question?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, I, uh, guess. I mean, now that you mention it, it does make sense that there’s more to it all than performing. It was with my group, so it’s not surprising that it’s like that in the actual entertainment world. Which is too bad, because I think that’s probably the biggest and most important reason that anyone gets into it in the first place.”

“Yeah, totally. I mean, I’m not supposed to talk bad about them – no gag order, really, but y’know, good form – but to tell the truth it was more the management than anything. Everyone in the business is money-grabbing, but they’re beyond the pale. This year’s winners are the last they’re managing. That bad.”

He pushes the now-soggy cereal aside and starts to pick at the food on his plate with a fork, glancing up at Harry every few seconds. “Sorry. That was probably way more than you asked for.”

“No, you’re good.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever asked me why I dropped it to come to uni. They all assumed it was just because it was a struggle for me to broaden myself past the UK and didn’t want to, you know, imply the ‘starving artist’ trope or whatever. Even my mum never flat-out asked me. She kept asking me if it was what I really wanted to do, but never _why_ I was doing it.”

Harry nods, pretending that he knows what Liam means. “It couldn’t have been fun to not fit in like you say.”

Liam laughs hollowly. “It certainly was not. Very lonely.”

They eat for a few minutes in silence. Harry gets up to get a glass of milk and when he sits back down Liam asks him, “So. What made you come to uni? You were in a band.”

Harry takes a sip and nods as he does so. “It was a bit lonely too. We started as friends but ended more as business partners. It all came crashing down because of a girl…”

*

The three meet up in front of their building – Liam coming from the terrace level – and head to the football pitch at the other side of the campus.

“Who are we playing?” Harry asks, pulling on his autumn-orange jumper as they walk.

“Sheffield, I think,” Niall replies.

He chuckles. “My sister’s a student there.”

“Should still root for that bloke from the other night,” Liam laughs under his breath.

Harry leans across Niall to give him a shove. “Never said I wasn’t gonna…totally unrelated, not even why we’re going, why’d you have to…”

Niall and Liam immediately crack up at how flustered Harry gets at the mere mention of Louis.

“You, my friend,” Niall says as he claps Harry on the back, “have a crush. And given the song he gave you, I believe that it’s in your best interest to go give him a little hello after the game today, win or lose.”

Harry winces. He’d had to sing _Oops!...I Did It Again_ to the whole crowd on Sunday night, thanks to his wise choice of letting Louis pick the karaoke piece. He likes to think that he’d killed it, of course – and judging by Louis’ impressed yet smug face after he handed the microphone back, he likes to think that he surprised him as well.

“I saw him once. He has a nice face. And he’s in his third year; he referred to us freshers as ‘young’uns.’ ‘S all, we don’t need to, like, make a big deal of it or anything…”

“Too late, man,” Liam teases. “We are going to find him tonight, when he is hot and sweaty in his kit, and you are going to walk up to him and say ‘Hello, do you remember me Louis, I’m Harry from karaoke. I serenaded you with one of Britney Spears’s greatest hits.’”

Niall butts in, adding, “And he is going to say, ‘Hello, Harreehhhh, yes, that was the highlight of my night. Fancy a round or two on me later?’ And you will go with him and get wasted and get laid and report back to us in the morning.”

Harry stares at them. “That’s all a bit much. He could not even fancy blokes.”

“He could not fancy girls,” Liam counters. “You should try.”

“Would you know?” Harry asks.

“Never had the chance to,” Liam responds shortly. Harry’s confused but doesn’t press further. He figures this could be where Liam’s issues with his management come in.

They enter the mini-arena and flash their student IDs to get in. Niall nudges Liam and whispers something to him that Harry doesn’t quite catch, but both of them start scouring the almost nearly-filled stands.

Niall points somewhere opposite the side they’re on, two rows up from the field. “Over there.”

Yes, there are seats enough for them over there, but there are also seats just a few steps up and to the left. “Why all the way over?” Harry asks.

“Because,” is all Liam answers for Niall with and Harry is left with no choice but to follow them.

It takes them far too long to make their way through the crowd and by the time they find the row the game is about to start. “Remind me again why we couldn’t sit where we came in?” Harry asks them both as he’s shuffled in by Niall.

Neither boy responds, but it takes all of Harry’s willpower not to audibly groan when he sees who’s sitting in front of Liam.

“Hey, mate, Zayn, right?” Liam leans forward and grabs Zayn’s shoulder. _Of course._

Zayn turns around, looking confused for a moment before he seems to remember. His eyes dart from Liam to Niall to Harry. “Hi,” he mumbles. “Liam?” He speaks up a bit.

Liam nods enthusiastically. “Yes, nice to catch you again. And, uh, I meant to tell you – nice tats.” He indicates the microphone, cartoon dialogue bubble, and skull inked on Zayn’s skin.

Zayn smiles. “Thank you.” He turns in his chair some more, getting a better view of the other two men. “Niall, and Harry Styles, right?”

 _Nice_. Harry blushes but nods in the affirmative.

“This must be your first game of the year. Gonna be great. We’ll beat Sheffield easy.”

“Harry’s sister goes there.” Niall points right at Harry even though he’s sitting next to him.

Harry angles himself toward Niall and throws his arms our in a befuddled manner. “Okay?”

The corner of Zayn’s mouth turns up.

Niall shrugs Harry’s annoyance off. “You told us, mate.”

Harry folds his arms over his chest and settles back into his seat, not saying a word.

Zayn and Liam get caught up in conversation but Harry ceases to listen as the referee blows his whistle and both teams jog onto the pitch. Harry starts to search for Louis against his better judgment but isn’t faced with much difficulty – he’s first on, wearing an armband proclaiming him captain of the Manchester team.

He’s wearing the same purple and yellow kit that Harry saw fling off of him from behind the toilet stall on Sunday and his hair is slicked back, out of his eyes. Harry has a particularly difficult time focusing on the teams readying themselves for the start of the match instead of Louis’ curves, which are quite plentiful.

“Earth to Harry,” Niall whispers in his ear after what feels like an eternity.

He snaps out of his reverie and looks at Niall, concerned. “Am I obvious?”

Niall buries his face in Harry’s shoulder, laughing. “Nah, only to me. You do look quite invested in a game that hasn’t started yet, though.”

Harry groans and leans back into his chair. Niall nudges on his shoulder with his face as he comes up for air. “What?” Harry asks.

Niall flicks his head toward Zayn and Liam. “Getting on quite well over there,” he says under his breath.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Think?”

Niall shrugs. “Don’t know. Never heard any rumors on Liam’s part.”

“He said some stuff earlier that makes me think, maybe. Not really getting it from Zayn.”

They watch the game as it kicks off and the ball lands in Manchester’s position. Louis handles it with ease, his smaller-than-average stature allowing him to fly through the pitch.

Sheffield gets the first goal, however, and Zayn is the loudest to boo.

“Wait, what if I’m off?” he mutters in Niall’s ear.

His friend turns to look at him, confused. Harry indicates Zayn with his chin. “’Bout him. What if he and Louis are, you know…”

“Ah, so you do want to give –” Niall squints at the players, and then continues, “Number seventeen a try.”

Harry gives him a subtle shove. “For real, mate.”

“In earnest? I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know about either of them individually, to be honest – do not let that detract you from trying to pull Louis, you should absolutely do it, I think you have a chance – but I think it’d be clear if they were together.”

“Okay. I guess.”

Niall throws his hands up in exasperation at Harry as Sheffield scores another goal, earning him a glare from everyone around them. He drops his hands as quickly as possible and starts booing. He leans toward Harry again. “We could always ask Zayn, you know.”

“Absolutely not!” Harry says, probably too loudly. Thankfully the crowd has turned back to cheering the home team on and he can’t be heard over the din.

“Just go for it. Have faith in yourself.”

“Why are you so insistent on this?”

“Because you looked really happy up there on the same stage as him last night. So you should do more of what makes you happy. Also, _you_ met him _in the toilet_ , and that is some nasty romantic comedy shit if I ever heard any.”

Harry is aghast. “I covered my microphone. I was being cheeky.”

Niall grins wide and slaps his knee. “You absolutely did cover your microphone, and you absolutely were being cheeky. But we still heard. Learn how microphones work, mate, will you?”

Harry groans and slumps back into his seat to pay attention to the rest of the match.

They end up pulling through – with Louis scoring three out of Manchester’s five goals – and the entire arena is up and cheering as the final whistle blows. Harry is yelling, his arm slung around Niall’s shoulders and Niall’s around Liam’s, and Zayn is more animated than Harry had seen him yet. After the teams do the obligatory handshake and the crowd starts scattering, Zayn bounds down the steps and toward the pitch, presumably to see Louis.

Harry looks toward Niall and Liam only to see them staring back at him expectantly. “To the pubs?” he asks them, pretending to be oblivious at what their stares are implying.

They both nod. “Yes,” Liam says, “Now go find out which one he’s headed to.”

Harry brushes past both of them, fully intending to lead them out of the arena and to the pub that he and Niall had dubbed their own last Saturday. But he happens to look down at Louis one more time before he’s set to leave, and he sees Zayn engaging him in a lively conversation. At one point his hand gestures right toward where they all were sitting and moves over until he finds them again in the aisle. Louis looks impatient with Zayn but Zayn beckons the three of them down anyway.

Niall and Liam can hardly contain their giddy jumps as they push and prod Harry to the pitch.

Not that he wouldn’t go anyway – he’s nervous as shit, but now that he’s been purposefully called down, _something_ must be in the air. Somewhere. Hopefully.

“Harry!” Zayn calls as they get closer. “And Niall, Liam!” He turns to Louis as if to say ‘My work is done.’

Harry grins a bit awkwardly. This is indeed awkward. Did Louis want him here? Or is Zayn being an arse? Did he overhear Niall and him talking and think he’d play Mess with the Fresher with Louis? Oh God.

Liam gives him a thump on the back, though – and then moves around him to get a little closer to Zayn – and Harry takes a proper look at Louis, who’s smiling now. “What’d you think of the game? Bit of a rough start, but I’d say we pulled through.”

Harry steps forward and swears he can hear Niall still bouncing behind him. “It was great. Quite impressive.”

Louis stands up a little straighter, smiling. “‘Quite impressive,’” he echoes, mocking but in a kind way. His feet shift and he leans toward him in what Harry hopes is meant to be a flirty stance. He takes another step closer. “Thanks, though, mate,” Louis continues, “Nice to see you again. And I’m glad to see you’re getting around campus fine, although I can’t imagine just watching a football game compares to slaying Britney Spears.” His eyes twinkle under the clash of the pitch lights with the night sky.

Harry nods, and laughs at the acknowledgment of his performance last weekend, not fully taking in every word Louis says. He glances to his left to find Zayn smiling as Liam talks him up. Okay, so maybe something is being planted there.

“Which pub are we headed to, Lou?” Zayn asks.

The soft face that was teasing Harry a few moments ago starts to harden a bit. “Dunno. I’ll get back to you.”

“No, it’s the one down Cross Street, isn’t it? Let’s all head that way.” He looks to the three first-years, and Liam and Niall grin and nod in response.

Harry feels uneasy, however. He’s uncomfortable with Louis’ immediate one-eighty to what was essentially a suggestion that he and the others join the team in drinking tonight.

“Yeah, sure,” Louis mutters, starting to back toward the changing room entrance. “Nice seeing you again, Harry. I’ll meet you all there.”

“Great then!” Niall interjects, drawing Harry’s attention away from Louis. They stick to Zayn as he leads them out of the pitch, bringing all three into his conversation with Liam about how best to navigate the streets of Manchester at night. Harry glances back to Louis as they exit and sees an older man wave him down.

 _Could be the coach_ , Harry thinks, but this man is suited up and looks more invested in Louis than the rest of the team.

*

They step into the pub after a twenty-minute walk off campus. Liam nudges Harry, whispering, “We’ll have to call a cab, not walking back that far wasted.”

Harry nods absentmindedly, checking the place out with his eyes. A good portion of the football team has already arrived.

Zayn scrolls through his phone and then looks up at the others. “Louis’ not here yet, he’ll be a bit, he says.” He leads them toward the bar. “More people from school will be here, they usually follow once the pitch clears out.” He waves the bartender down and orders them a round of beers.

“Oh, you don’t have to –” Harry insists, but Zayn waves him off.

“Welcome to Manchester, lads. First one’s on me.”

Liam laughs and sits on a barstool, Harry and Niall following suit. “Thanks, mate.” Harry and Niall nod.

Zayn sits in between Harry and Liam, smiling. “Don’t worry. Have fun tonight. I wish I’d, you know, had someone when I started last year. And it’s good you have each other. The transition to uni life is better with people.”

Harry quite likes Zayn. He’s genuine and kind, but Harry’s still confused about his motives.

They all down a beer and Liam calls the second round as the rest of the Manchester team stumbles through the doors, clearly having pre-gamed back on campus.

Zayn perks up and waves Louis over. “Over here, mate.”

Harry catches him moving through the crowd immediately. He’s out of his football kit and in a pair of starched white jeans – with a beanie sticking out of the back pocket – and a red polo shirt. And, Harry notes as he looks toward the ground, he’s wearing the same Vans from before. _Sharp_. _Eye-grabbing_. Those are the words.

He looks back up, making eye contact with Niall in the process, who smirks.

Harry really needs to work on being a little less obvious.

Louis pulls Zayn into a hug, his aura ten times more bubbly and lifelike than he was on the pitch, and is nearly giggling as he says, “Good t’ see you Zayn!” Harry shuffles in his stool at how close he is to him.

Zayn smiles and jerks his head toward the others. Of course, when Louis turns around he’s directly facing Harry. Louis leans against Zayn, crossing his legs. “Evening, freshers!” His voice is high-pitched when he’s intoxicated.

Niall and Liam greet him in return, but Harry just swivels back and forth in his chair. _Freshers_.

And then Louis winks at Harry, quickly enough for him to nearly miss.

“Shall we get drinking?” Louis calls for a round for everyone seated at the bar.

“ _Get_?” Harry lets it slip out without thinking.

Louis twists his head cockily. “Yes, let’s.” He spends a few seconds squinting at Harry’s face. “You’ve just arrived. Not nearly drunk enough for your second Friday. Hold on.”

He calls to the bartender again, asking for two complex drinks to be brought to them. “You should try this, Curly. I’ll take one, too, it’s quite great.”

Harry stares at the drink after it arrives, almost red in color and in a shot glass. He looks up at Louis from over the cup. “Is this safe?”

“’S called the ‘Tommo.’ Put it together myself two years ago. Bottoms up!” He toasts Harry.

Harry downs the drink quickly, trying not to grimace. It’s gross. But then, Louis bought it for him, so he isn’t about to look like he can’t handle it. He places the glass back on the counter and finds Louis staring at him with raised eyebrows. “Yep, good.” Harry nods his head back and forth while Louis lets out a loud laugh.

By midnight – though it’s very difficult for Harry to keep the time – music strikes up and a small dance floor is inadvertently carved out in the middle of the pub. Niall and Liam have disappeared off somewhere, likely in the middle of the dancing crowd.

Harry wants to ask Louis to dance. He figures that buying someone a drink is a universal sign of being somewhat into them, so he’s quite sure that he’s in the clear. And, okay, Louis bought a good chunk of the football team a round in addition to Harry’s friends and Zayn, but he exclusively ordered Harry that nasty shot. And Louis looks like he’d be a superb dance (or, rather, grinding) partner.

Harry stands up, steadying himself on the stool so he doesn’t make an arse of himself and fall over. The alcohol he’s consumed has made plenty an impact on him now – he doesn’t think twice about placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder and interrupting his conversation with one of his teammates.

Louis gives him another of his eyebrow raises full of smirk and sass. Harry gulps. He can’t seem to open his mouth to form words, so he just drags him toward the dance floor. Louis gives his teammate a shrug and puts his drink down by Zayn. He follows Harry away from the bar and once they’re immersed on the floor puts his hands on Harry’s waist and pulls him close. He’s shorter than Harry, but just enough so that they have quite a good angle going on for a dance.

Harry wants to say something, he wants to say something witty or sexy, or really anything other than the awkward cheek biting that he currently has going on. He just keeps looking at Louis, though, as they move slowly among the rest of the packed bodies. He really should have waited for a more upbeat song to start up before dragging Louis out here.

“What are you thinking, Curly?” Louis shouts over the din, grinning up at Harry. He’s quite gone now. Harry questions whether he’ll have a good, if any, recollection of this in the morning.

“My name’s Curly now?” Harry ignores the question.

Louis slowly drags his right hand off of Harry’s waist and up into his curls. “Fits.”

Harry scrunches his face up. “Bit juvenile.”

Louis laughs. “Well then what do they call you at home?”

He puts his hands on Louis’ shoulders and yanks him closer again. “Not thinking about home.”

Their hips are close now and brushing with each step. Harry tries to focus. Louis laughs again, but breathier and without the hard-shelled gusto he’d had before. “Okay, Harry,” he says.

They dance like that for what feels like the rest of the night. The music dies down and the floor thins out a bit. They ignore the pace behind each new song that comes on, Harry’s hips gaining more momentum with each step. By the time he starts to form a coherent thought again he’s quite sure that what they’re doing classifies as grinding. He loops his arms around Louis’ neck, bringing him in even closer.

“Hazza,” Louis drawls, unable to put himself together enough to say his name properly.

Harry smiles. “Yeah, that works.”

Louis immediately looks up at him, his chin on Harry’s chest. “Pardon?” he asks.

“My name,” Harry murmurs.

“Hazza,” Louis repeats, standing up a little and straightening his arms against Harry’s shoulders.

Harry nods. “Yeah.” And in that moment, Harry really, truly wants to get out. He wants to go back to wherever Louis lives, which is probably mature and enticing yet littered with books and football jerseys and beanies and Vans, if he owns any other pairs. Simply put, he wants to fuck Louis’ brains out.

He looks down at Louis expectantly, blinking in a manner he can only hope is the least bit coquettish.

“Harry.” Louis runs his hands down Harry’s arms so that they’re holding hands. He swings them up, creating a barricade between them. “Think I’ll stick with Curly, okay?”

Harry continues to blink, but the flirtatious air he was attempting to put on is gone. “Mmkay?” he asks, confused at the change in body language and tone of voice.

“You are fun. And I am…happy, so very happy that you’re so comfortable in yourself.”

Harry shuts his eyes. There is no way that Louis is straight, or somehow not, unable to be interested in him. Not after this. But he braces himself for the speech that he thinks is coming.

“God knows I wasn’t when I came here. I probably still have a bit of work to do on myself. And you’re good to dance with. _Really good_. But I can’t, like, give you a special nickname. I can call you Curly from across campus, because you’re a quirky fresher that came to the karaoke night Zayn and I organized, and because I ran into you at my football game. And I’m, I’m sorry for leading you on tonight, if that’s what it looks like, because I really just wanted to dance with you, you’re fit, and funny, and carefree.”

 _Okay_ , Harry thinks. He can handle this. Louis is telling him he can’t go for a relationship right now.

“That’s – that’s okay. You didn’t lead me on like that.”

Louis looks at him, swallows, and nods briefly. “I didn’t? Good.”

“I’m not, like, demanding some clingy thing. Sorry about the name. It’s fine, fine if it doesn’t go beyond tonight or whatever.”

“Harry, no.” Louis squeezes his hands tighter but lets go of his left. “I really shouldn’t take you home. I’m sorry.”

Harry drops his right hand as well. He’s being rejected in the middle of a dance floor, half-sober. “I’m confused. You shouldn’t, or you don’t want to?”

Louis hesitates. “I just can’t. I’m sorry, again, dancing with you was fun. Maybe I shouldn’t have bought you the drink. I’m – it’s just really complicated, Harry, it’s too much to get into. It’s okay for me to dance with you here. That’s it.” He looks at Harry softly, far less wasted than he was when they started dancing.

Harry takes a deep breath. “Right. Nice seeing you again.” He leaves and pushes his way through the stragglers, looking for Niall and Liam, or even just Niall. Of course, he has to end up bumping into Zayn on his way through.

“Harry, where’s…fuck,” he trails off as he sees the blank expression on Harry’s face.

Zayn starts to say something again, but Harry cuts him off. “Nice seeing you again,” he repeats. “Thanks for the drink.”

He finds Niall chatting up a girl by the door but can’t spot Liam. Shit. He’s not about to rain on Niall’s parade as well. He starts toward the exit by himself but feels Niall’s hand on his back before he reaches the doorknob.

“What’s wrong? Where’d Louis go?”

Harry tries to shake him off. “’M headed back to the dorms. You go back to her.”

Niall pauses. “Give me one minute, maybe two. Don’t go anywhere.”

Harry obliges, leaning against the doorframe and checking his phone. Niall returns quickly enough with a drunken Liam in tow.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Niall says, pushing his way through the door and dragging the other two behind him.

“Niall, that girl,” Harry insists. He isn’t about to have Niall lose a chance at someone just because he can’t handle rejection.

“Rubbish. I explained to her my mate had to go, that he’s right ill. I’ll find her at another party or summat.

Liam stumbles forward and waves down a cab as Niall pats Harry gently on the shoulder. “Want to talk about it? You looked like you were getting on well. So something’s happened.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He just stares ahead.

*

The ride back to campus is quick and would have been quiet had Liam shut up. He goes on about all sorts of nonsense and has to throw in mentions of Zayn every couple of minutes. Harry doesn’t particularly want to hear about him right now.

He and Niall exit the lift on the third floor, pausing in front of their rooms while Harry fishes for his keys.

“You good, mate?” Niall gives him a concerned look.

Harry nods, again without saying anything. The only time he’d spoken since they’d left the pub was to insist on paying the cab fare, given that he was the one who had dragged them away.

“Okay. G’night. See you.” Niall quietly disappears through his door and Harry slides into his own room.

Only to find Jeff sitting awake in his bed.

Harry really does not want to deal with him right now. This guy puts him ill at ease. He walks past, forgoing any face-washing or teeth-brushing and just slips out of his jeans, orange blazer, and t-shirt, getting into bed in his pants. But he really cannot sleep and try to erase the past few hours from his memory with the light on. He rolls over to face Jeff. “Mind hitting the light? Given the, uh, hour and all..”

Jeff looks at him. “It’s only a quarter past one. Why are you in so early all of a sudden?”

Harry groans and rolls back to his left. He could have sworn that it was four, four-thirty at the earliest. This means…that he didn’t even spend an hour on the dance floor. It had felt like all night.

And it looks like Jeff isn’t turning off the light. Harry stares at the cinder block wall he’s facing for a few minutes, but he isn’t getting anywhere in terms of sleep. He turns around again. “Can you please hit the light? I had an awful night, I really need to sleep. I’m sorry.”

Jeff huffs. “I’m busy. I can’t do this with the light off.” He’s on his laptop.

It hasn’t even been a week and Harry is ready to blow. He doesn’t know why Jeff is out to get him, or why he’s being such an obstinate, bull-headed roommate.

Jeff turns to look at him this time. “Give me an hour, I’m working on something important.”

“I don’t mind the light from your computer.” Harry gestures upward. “But these are fluorescents, and they’re giving me a headache before I’m even hungover.”

Jeff shakes his head. “I’ve heard that if you take ibuprofen and drink enough water before you go to sleep it helps.”

“For some people, maybe, but never for me. Could you maybe go to the study room down the hall?”

“Too loud,” Jeff mutters. “Go stay in your boyfriend’s bed if you need to go to sleep so early.”

Harry is taken aback. The content of that last jab aside, the tone with which he spat it out was absolutely venomous. He sits up in his bed. “Do you have a problem with me, or who I am, or something?”

Jeff rolls his eyes and closes his laptop. So much for that important work. “No, objectively, I really don’t care what you do with your life. But I resent that you brought me into it before I met you, and that I have to live alongside it.”

Without thinking, Harry gets up, grabs his phone, and pulls his jeans and t-shirt back on. As he does so, he lets Jeff have it as much as his current state of mind will allow. “I am leaving not because I’m going to my boyfriend – which I don’t have, by the way, us gays aren’t inherently sex-crazed maniacs – but because I _need to fucking sleep_. Because I am half wasted and fully fucked up right now, and I need the light off, and you clearly won’t do that for me.”

Jeff just stares at Harry as the door slams behind him.

He crosses the hall and raps on Niall’s door, crinkling the little sign that has his friend’s name etched on it in blue highlighter. Now he knows why Niall didn’t have trouble finding his room tonight.

Niall opens it in his black pants, rubbing his eyes at the light from the hallway.

“Taking you up on your open bed,” Harry mumbles as he’s let in.


	4. In the Kind of World Where We Belong

“Shh. Don’t wake him.”

“Shuddup, lemme put this down. I’ll write him on a sticky and we can go.”

“Go where, I’m going back to bed, it’s early.”

“Fine, you go, I’ll go roam the streets of the city alone.”

Harry rolls around in bed and the voices shut up. He shoves his head further into the pillow. He doesn’t know where he is, who’s talking, or what time it is. All he knows is that his head is throbbing terribly which means that he probably drank far too much wherever he was last night. They tell you that your uni years are for drinking and partying nonstop but they never tell you that you pay for it every single morning after.

“Is he up?” Okay, maybe that’s Liam. Harry’s slowly coming to his senses.

“’M up,” he grumbles through the pillow. “Exactly how early is it?” He lies on his side to face the voices and slowly opens his eyes to find Niall and Liam hovering over him concernedly.

“It’s eleven, Harry, sorry for waking you,” Niall says as he places a set of paperwork next to a McDonald’s bag. “Just brought you this, we can go and let you sleep if you want.”

Harry sits up. Niall brought him food from off-campus on a Saturday morning; he’s pretty sure that that’s the definition of an angel. “Didn’t have to do that,” Harry protests.

Niall scoffs and sits on his desk chair as Liam plops down on the foot of the bed. Niall hands Harry the bag. “It’s got a McMuffin and hashbrowns. I’ve got a bottle of water around here, too, you look like you need it.”

Harry smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Niall.”

“No problem.” Niall glances at Liam for a moment and then back to Harry. “Are you okay? After last night. You don’t have to tell us, if you don’t want, but…”

Harry shakes his head and bites into the sandwich. “’Sokay. About what, though? Like…I don’t even know what happened in the pub. I dunno if I can remember all of it. And I don’t remember everything in my room either. Just that he wouldn’t turn the light off and told me to go stay with my boyfriend. Said it real nasty too. So I came to you.” He sticks his tongue out at Niall in a teasing way. He returns the look but with a hint of concern in his face.

Liam looks outright angry. “That’s not okay mate. And, really, you shouldn’t have to even try and change his mind.” He points at the folder on Niall’s desk. “We took the liberty of picking you up a room change application. Dunno how long it takes, but if you don’t want to stay there anymore – neither of us would question it – you should get on it.”

Harry nods. “I guess I could do that. But, like, we never actually got into it, y’know? We just exchanged harsh words. So maybe it’s a little early. But I’ll hold onto the papers.”

Liam shakes his head. “No, you exchanged harsh words because he was an arsehole about your sexuality. You don’t have to put up with that for one second longer than you realized it. You have the ability to change that, so get out now before you actually _do_ get into it.”

“Yeah. You should do it, mate,” Niall encourages him.

“Lemme look at the papers when I’m done eating and not so greasy. He _was_ mean.”

“That’s one word for it,” Niall says. “Um…about the pub, are you okay? Just want to make sure you didn’t get hurt.”

Harry sighs and digs around in the bag for the potatoes. He doesn’t really want to tell them everything, but figures that they deserve to know the bigger picture given all the trouble they’re going through for his well-being. “Uh. We, uh, danced. And then he said stuff and apparently I said the wrong thing. He said that he ‘can’t’ but that dancing was fun. And, like, I’m probably whining, because that sounds really reasonable right now. He’s allowed to say no, he just, you know, kind of did a one-eighty. And the way Zayn acted at the game, I kind of thought he was being his wingman. But whatever. ‘S over now. So, uh, I suck it up and move on.”

He throws shoves the wrappers back into the bag and crumples it up. Niall hands him the water bottle. “Arsehole.”

“That’s harsh. And confusing,” is Liam’s offering.

Harry shrugs. “Life. Didn’t even sound like he’s not out, or whatever. I don’t know what he was getting at.”

Liam pats him on the knee gingerly. “It’s harsh, because you’re just starting out here and he seemed like a nice guy, and you’re already dealing with other shit, but it’s okay.”

“You guys are good friends,” Harry tells them, getting up to use the toilet. “I’m fine. I’m great.”

*

The rest of the weekend passes unceremoniously. Harry fills out and submits the room change application that afternoon, but receives an automated email response informing him that it will be looked at on Monday when business hours resume. Considering that most of the people who have to fill those papers out probably aren’t in a good place, he isn’t very happy with the system. He sneaks back into his room to grab the essentials for the rest of the weekend along with his school rucksack and stays with Niall Saturday and Sunday nights.

By the time Monday rolls around, he’s exhausted. He slept on the floor for the past two nights because he refused to let Niall lose sleep in a crowded bed over this mess. To top it off, he had to wake up at eight to drag himself to the writing center even though he doesn’t have a lecture until noon.

He makes the trek across campus from the dormitories to the English department and swipes his ID card into the lab. “Harry Styles,” he gives the desk receptionist, a fellow student who looks equally unhappy at being assigned the morning shift. She clicks her way through the system and points him toward a table and pair of chairs.

He sits down gently and looks around. The room is clean, white, full of half-asleep people, and loaded with quotes and books and periodicals – he feels uncomfortable and sterilized. He tugs down at his olive beanie to cover his ears. The room is chilly.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t consider himself a good writer, because he does, but he’s not exactly here of his own volition. His professor didn’t even give them a choice – get this draft reviewed by a peer tutor, or lose half of a grade on the essay. He drags the paper out of his folder and twirls around in the chair, waiting.

Five minutes later someone slams down beside him. “So sorry I’m late, I had trouble getting out of my flat this morning.”

Harry looks up at the voice, and…yes. Just his luck. Zayn’s seated next to him, digging a pencil out of his bag. He looks at Harry and his face falls slightly, though more apologetically than disappointed. “Hi, Harry.”

“Morning,” Harry responds in a low tone, scooting in closer to the desk. He hopes they can get this over with quickly.

Zayn sighs and stares at him for a few moments. “Listen, Harry. I want to tell you a few things because I feel like Friday was partially my fault.” He taps Harry’s essay. “Let me read through this quick, and if it doesn’t need much I’ll just write my feedback down. Then we can talk.”

For a second, Harry contemplates playing dumb. _What happened on Friday? Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate._ But Zayn sounds genuine, leading Harry to believe that maybe there was some complex, legitimate reason behind Louis’ behavior and that he wasn’t just being a major douche.

Harry nods. “Go ahead.”

He taps his pen against the desk, against his jeans, against the chair while Zayn flips through his essay, making pencil marks here and there.

He finishes up quickly and passes the paper back to Harry. “Good work. You just need a couple of clarifications to make your thesis coherent.”

“Thanks. Can you initial it? I came because it’s required.”

Zayn chuckles and scribbles a fancy “ZM” on the front of the draft. “I got you.” He glances at the clock, which reads eight-ten. “Okay, sorry I rushed, but really, I think you’re in a good place with that. You’re a good writer. We’ve got until eight-thirty, though, do you mind hanging around?”

Harry shrugs. “If you know something that I should know then go for it, I guess.”

“Okay.” Zayn stretches back in his chair and looks toward Harry. “As a disclaimer, our session is over, and I’m talking to you as a friend, not as a tutor.” He smiles, and Harry chuckles in return.

“For real, though, Louis told me what happened. I’m sorry, on behalf of myself, because I invited you and implied that he was interested. And in my defense, he did, to me. He kept talking about you after karaoke, ‘the boy with the curls,’ and I genuinely thought that I was doing both of you a favor when I brought you to the pub.”

Harry nods, still lightly tapping the pen in time with the clock. “I just got confused, when he started rambling. You don’t have to apologize.”

“It’s a bad situation, really. For everyone.”

Harry cocks his head at Zayn. “Well then what’s up against him?  I mean, you don’t have to tell me, of course.”

“Nah, I’ll meddle.” Zayn smirks. “It’s my job, as his best mate and all.” He sighs. “He’s captain of the Manchester football team, Harry. He _is_ out, in a subtle way, to everyone here. But he wants to go into football. And he has a chance, a real chance. There was a recruiter at the game last night.” He pauses, grabbing a blank sheet of paper. He starts to doodle shapes and designs on it.

“I think it could be done, maybe. Coming out professionally. I mean, there may not be anyone in the UK but it isn't like there aren't any in the world..."

Zayn keeps drawing even as he turns to make eye contact with Harry again. “I don't think it would be the easiest thing for him to do. We’ve come a long way, but it’s not so simple for Louis. He really struggles with it. That’s why I was so excited to hear him get interested in someone. He usually keeps it to himself, but he kept going on about you. Said you have the ‘most endearing voice’ and that he can tell you’re ‘a genuinely good, fantastic, great person.’ And some other things I won’t repeat.”

Harry looks down, blushing. “This supposed to make me feel better?” he mumbles.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that Louis didn’t want to let you down. He probably wanted what you did when he came into the pub already drunk. But then he sobered up a little and realized the implications of bringing someone into his life right now. Football is everything to him. He’s got four younger sisters and it’s just his mother at home – in his mind he has much more than his dreams riding on getting recruited after he graduates. He might’ve been a bit of an arse when he let you down, I don’t know, I wasn’t there, but it’s hard for him. Okay, Harry?”

“Yeah. I get it. I have other stuff on my plate right now, this usually doesn’t get me down so much.” He really doesn’t want to come across as some sad, heartbroken, and sloppy mess when he’s only a fraction of that. He pushes his chair back and tosses the pen back in his bag, ready to leave.

Zayn sits up straight and crumples the doodle paper. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Dunno.” He slides the folder in and zips up his rucksack. “Have any experience with switching roommates?”

Zayn shoots him a concerned look as they both stand up. “No. But why do you need to, if you don’t mind me asking? It hasn’t even been two weeks. Have you talked to your resident advisor to try and work it out?”

Harry pulls his bag onto his shoulders, still sore from the hard floor last night. “I did yesterday. She agrees that it’s better if I move out. My roommate, uh, isn’t very accepting. Pretty homophobic, actually – literally. He acts scared and skittish around me most of the time.”

Zayn pulls him into an unsuspecting embrace. “That is absolutely awful. Deplorable. But you’ll get out soon.” He pulls back. “And if you need something, but it looks like you have some good lads to back you up, if you need something, let me know.” He grabs another piece of scrap paper and scribbles something on it. “My number. That’s really toxic, Harry, I’m so sorry. I know Louis would help you out if you need something, too – you probably don’t want it, but if you need it. He has a bit of a big name around here. And…like I said, he’s genuinely upset about how things went down.”

Harry takes the paper from Zayn. “Thank you, Zayn. It means a lot.”

Zayn nods. “Of course. Good luck.” He smiles. “And let me know how the paper turns out.”

*

When Harry gets out of his last lecture at five he still hasn’t heard from anyone regarding the application. He refreshes his email, hoping for _something_. It’s not right for them to keep him hanging like this. But then he hears the familiar chime as an email loads into his inbox – it’s from the university administration. Thank god.

He skims it, though, and wishes that he’d received nothing at all. They didn’t reject the application, of course, especially since the RA had signed off on it yesterday. But it read:

_Mr. Styles:_

_Your request for a room change has been received and processed. Although you have been approved for a change, we are unable to offer you another living option in the immediate future. It is expected that a room will be available in 2-5 weeks. Unfortunately on-campus living has a high demand and your situation is not so dire as to warrant a jump in the queue._

_University Housing Programs_

Right, grand. Harry’s stuck between Niall’s, and maybe Liam’s, floors for the next month. Everything started out so great. Now the universe is just fucking with him.

He starts to head back to the dorms. If he has to at least keep his things with Jeff for a while then he really needs to see if they can coexist, even if silently.

He kicks through the fallen leaves strewn across the pavement on his walk. His phone rings – it’s his mother calling. He feels a pang of guilt as he picks up – he hasn’t called her nearly as much as he should have, but to be fair, he’s been a bit occupied. “Hi Mum.”

“Harry, sweet.” Her voice has the worried mother tone to it. “Harry, your university called today about a change in rooms. Are you okay?”

Harry is eighteen. He has no idea, and is quite pissed off, at the school calling his mother on his behalf when they won’t even do what he’s asking them to do in the first place. “Not fitting right with my roommate, Mum, but why did they call you?”

“Because, Harry, my name is on the bill. But are you all right? Do you need anything, from any of us?”

He wants to feel indignant, upset that he has to talk about this with his mother. But she sounds genuinely upset and worried. “He’s close-minded. It’s a long story. But I came out to him pretty soon after I met him, and he’s weird about it. You know, like the word ‘homophobic’ is used for plain bigots, but this guy seems legitimately scared of me. I don’t want to live around that.”

“Harry, of course not. When are they moving you? What do you want me to do? Who do you have that you can stay with, or do you want to come home for now? I can drive you to your classes every day until you get settled again.” Her voice is quavering as she speaks.

“No, Mum, I’m fine. They’ll move me when they get a room. It’s okay. My friend Niall, he lives close to me, he’s letting me bunk in his room. It’s – it’s fine.” Harry pauses and then throws in, “Mum, don’t be upset.”

“Honey, you just went out into the world for the first time. As a mother I’m thinking about everything that could happen to you. It’s normal and I’m worried, I worry for Gemma too. When things like this happen, I’ll be upset. I’m going to call the school and make sure they get you a new place quickly. And are you sleeping on the floor?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not comfortable or healthy for you. I’m going to express post you an air mattress, does that sound good?”

“Yes, that’s great.” Harry consoles her even though he doubts he’ll use the bed. He doesn’t want to impose on Niall, or Ian for that matter, further than he already is. “Mum, I have to go now. I’ll text you later.”

“Okay, honey. Please let me know how you’re doing. And of course you can talk to Gemma, or your father, or Robin if you want to.”

“I know Mum. Bye.

“Bye love.”

Harry hangs up, sighing inwardly. He’s at his door now and takes a deep breath as he unlocks it. Jeff is there.

He crosses the room silently to take his dirty clothes out of his rucksack and place them in the hamper. He shifts through his dresser, grabbing another set. He moves to switch out his textbooks for tomorrow when Jeff finally speaks up.

“Got a phone call from the RA today.”

Harry turns to look at him to answer, but Jeff keeps speaking.

“They said you’re moving out. I think it’s really great that you discussed it with me beforehand.”

Harry stares. “And I think you’ll get that that wasn’t something I was particularly comfortable doing.”

“It’s not that I mind you leaving.”

Harry slips his calculus notebook into his bag, laughing dryly. “Don’t really care what you mind.”

“You’re just not a very big person for not discussing it first.”

Harry slips his bag, stuffed to the brim, onto his shoulder. “People like you always have to have the last word.”

“Who, people with convictions?”

Harry rolls his eyes and heads toward the door. “No, bigoted arseholes.”

He crosses the hall without another look back and knocks on Niall’s door. He smirks, happy with how he handled the confrontation back there. _He_ got the last word, and not that that’s something particularly important in and of itself, but rather in that it was a slap in the face to Jeff. He’s still fuming, both at the school and at his roommate, but after hearing his mother’s concern – yes, he has to admit to himself that talking to her did help – and getting a word in over in 322 he’s let some steam off.

Niall doesn’t come to the door, though, and when Harry presses his ear to it there aren’t any signs of life from the inside. He texts him, asking if he’s busy.

Almost immediately his phone buzzes in response:

_Niall Horan – 5:22 PM:_

_gud ur out of class. chillin with leeyum 041 get ur arse over here._

Harry laughs at his friend’s horrendous text lingo and spelling. He heads down to the terrace floor and goes up and down the halls searching for Liam’s room – he hasn’t actually been there before – before he finally finds it. The door is cracked open, and he enters to find both Niall and Liam sprawled across the floor playing FIFA. Typical.

“Hello lads,” he greets them as he lets the door fall back against the lock.

“Hi,” Liam mutters as he continues to focus on his game intently.

“Hi,” Niall echoes.

Harry drops his bag and leans against Liam’s bedframe, following their game.

“Did you hear from the uni?” Niall asks, his fingers flying on the controller.

“Yeah.” Harry slides down the frame so that he’s balancing on the ledge. “Email. It said it could take them as long as five weeks to get me another room. That my situation isn’t ‘dire’ enough, or something.”

Liam pauses the game and they both look at him, aghast. “Not right,” Liam says.

Harry shrugs. “I mean. If they don’t have a room they don’t have a room.”

Niall looks concerned at Harry’s nonchalant answer. “You okay, mate?”

“Well I just called him a bigoted arsehole on my way out so I’ve certainly been worse,” he says with a slight smile.

Niall stretches across the floor to pat Harry on the knee. “There ya go. Good on you.”

Harry pauses, going back and forth in his mind as to whether he should mention that he saw Zayn earlier and all that he had told him. To be truthful, he hasn’t had that much time to think it over for himself, considering all that he’s been preoccupied with. He’s more sympathetic toward Louis now, really – but he still can’t truly put himself in his shoes. Harry hasn’t exactly had a prejudice-free life, but he made the decision a while ago, thanks to great friends and family, to not close himself off from love or expression of who he is. And he can’t fathom the position that Louis is in where he has to do that. He’s also having a bit of trouble with the idea that football is the only way he can support his family. He is getting a university education, after all.

But he figures that that’s neither here nor there. It’s Louis’ life to live – he just wishes he wouldn’t involve other people in it if he isn’t willing to actually do so. So he’ll move on, and let the incident with Zayn slide for now.

“Thanks mate.” He answers Niall’s praise and gestures for them to get back to their game.

A couple of hours pass as they continue gaming, switching controllers around every couple of matches. Shortly after seven, Niall announces, “Food. Please.”

“Yeah, I’m ready for that,” Harry agrees as his player kicks a winning goal in past Liam’s goalie.

Liam groans and flips the system off. “Fine, let’s go now. I’m, uh, going to karaoke again tonight.”

Both Niall and Harry look at him. “Wasn’t that a one-time thing?” Harry asks. “For the freshers’ first week or whatever.”

“Saw another flyer for it again tonight,” Liam answers. “I guess it went well. I’m not, you know, expecting you to go or anything.”

Harry looks down at the controller, now turned off, and plays with the switches. “It was fun,” he offers.

“Maybe someone else is doing it, like a rotating thing,” Liam tells him encouragingly. “I just like having an outlet for singing and performing. I’m not going for anyone – again, don’t feel like you have to come with.”

“But, like, I wouldn’t think twice about going if he wasn’t the one running it. So I shouldn’t let stupid rejection crap stand in my way of doing anything.”

“That’s the spirit, Harry!” Niall thumps him on the back and stands up. “We can leave if he’s rude or anything, just let me know. But can we please go get something to eat now, _please_?” He stands up, throwing his keychain in his pocket as he slips on a pair of trainers, ready to leave.

Harry stands too and stretches, Liam following suit. “Can I leave my bag in here? It’s full of all my overnight stuff and school books.

“Yeah, don’t worry. You can stay here if you want to get off the third floor, too, or give Niall a break from your ugly mug,” he teases.

Harry laughs. “Thanks. Might take you up on that.”

Niall snorts. “Whatever you want, Harry. I, for one, don’t mind having your curly mop head around.”

“Yeah, ‘course you don’t, but I feel bad for Ian.”

Niall shrugs. “You sleep on my side and don’t touch his shit. Plus he gets it.”

Liam interrupts their conversation to steer them down the opposite direction of the staircase. “Some idiot deactivated the alarm on this emergency exit the other day, but at least we can get out without having to go upstairs.”

*

By the time they finish their banter-filled dinner and make their way to the same university club room as last week it’s five past eight. Harry just hopes that Louis isn’t running late and that the event started on time – with any luck, they can slip in quietly. He’s determined to do this, though, regardless – what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, after all.

Thankfully, there are enough students there tonight that they can indeed get in with the crowd and disappear into it. They pick a center row that has three empty chairs in the middle, slipping past their peers who only grumble a few complaints at having to stand up for them.

Harry tries to subtly peer past the head of the person in front of him to see who’s up on stage. Yes, it’s Louis and Zayn. Louis’s tapping on his microphone and the feedback reverberates throughout the room.

“Sorry all!” he shouts to the crowd as he twists a dial on the handle. He moves toward Zayn and switches the microphone off as they work out last minutes kinks.

“You singing?” Niall leans in to ask Harry. Liam is currently preoccupied with girls surrounding him and talking him up.

Harry shrugs. “Dunno.”

“You should. Pick something funny.”

“I am _not_ singing the Macarena, Niall.”

Niall crosses his arms and pretends to look affronted. “Fine, be that way. Do something, like…”

“Nothing romantic or flirty,” Harry insists.

Niall bobs his head in agreement. “Right. Oh, unless you do something of Liam’s. That would be good. The message doesn’t matter there because you’re just doing something of your mate’s.”

“Niall, all these girls are here for Liam.” He gestures around the room which has filled up even more than it was when they walked in. “’M not gonna butcher one of his songs.”

“That’s what I’m planning on doing! Right, Liam?” Niall draws their friend out of the mini mob of fans that have surrounded him by the collar of his polo shirt. “Liam, I said I’m singing one of your songs, right?”

Liam grins. “That’d be great.”

“Hilarious,” Harry butts in.

“That too.”

Niall turns back to Harry. “Dare you to do it too, mate. Let’s do a sing-off. Whoever does it best wins and…takes the first round this weekend.”

Harry laughs. Niall’s always up for something, and he always brings it back to beer. “Fine, you’re on. Be prepared.”

“OKAY! We have this stupid microphone up and working!” Louis announces with a hint of frustration from the center of the stage, which is a little less makeshift and a little sturdier this time around. “Thank you all for coming out again, it’s quite fun for Zayn and I. We might be able to make it a regular thing.”

“No, he’s making me do it, I swear!” Zayn fake-protests.

Louis flips him the bird, still light and joking. Harry inaudibly groans and slides down in his seat a little. He’s forgetting Louis, he is – he’s trying his best to wipe the memories of the good part of Friday night from his mind. But Louis looks _so good_ today, and not just physically. Yes, the plain white t-shirt and navy cargo pants suit him perfectly, as do the same black Vans he’s seen him in three times now, but his attitude is the icing on the cake. He’s a loud person, all around, in his personality and looks and, well, everything.

 _Oops_. He can tell he’s staring again as Niall nudges him on the shoulder with his chin. “You okay?”

Harry nods.

“Who’s up first?” Louis screeches.

Harry turns to Niall, who’s still looking at him. “Louis is _loud_ ,” he half-whispers, half-breathes. He wanted for it to sound semi-critical, but it somehow comes out of his mouth as a compliment.

Niall looks at him quizzically. “Okay, mate. Shall I go first, or you?”

“You go. Need to see what I’m up against.”

“Unfair!” Niall jokes as he crosses in front of Harry and everyone else in their row to reach the aisle.

Louis’ exuberance wanes, however, when he sees Niall. His eyes dart to the row he came from and they fall on Harry. Harry averts his own eyes quickly enough that he hopes he wasn’t caught staring.

“Hi again, Niall,” Louis says, quickly rebounding and regaining his perkiness. “What have you got for us tonight?”

“I’m doing one of Liam’s songs,” Niall announces. He points at Liam, again drawing Louis’ attention back to Harry, and shouts, “Pick it for me, mate!”

“ _One Thing_!” Liam shouts out amidst the cheering. Harry is quite sure, however, that the cheers are because Liam opened his mouth and aren’t for Niall. He smirks at the way Niall’s chest puffs out a bit, though.

Louis raises his eyebrows in what Harry has come to realize is his signature manner and hands Niall the microphone. “Give us _One Thing_ , Zayn!” he yells.

The song plays and Niall is hilarious – a delight, in the best way. He doesn’t quite have the vocal chops of Liam but makes up for it in energy and the way he bounces around the small stage, interacting with the audience. He knows the song so well that it looks less like a karaoke performance and more like his own act. By the end of the song – “And _you’ve_ got that one thing!” – he has the crowd cheering for him, and not just for his association with Liam.

He passes the microphone back to Louis, who’s applauding him as well, and struts back to his seat. Harry gives him a high-five. “Nice job, mate.”

Niall just sticks his tongue out at him. “Beat that, Styles.”

“Plan on it,” he replies under his breath as he stands up, already having figured out what he’s going to do. He approaches the stage and shoots Louis a cordial smile.

“Happy Monday, Curly,” Louis greets him simply. So he’s stuck with Curly now, is he? Louis must’ve been serious about that.

“You too,” he answers.

Louis pats his own head with a confused look on his face. “Didn’t realize I suddenly sprouted curls, but I’ll take your word for it. What are you singing for us tonight?”

“I’ll take what Niall did,” he answers, then crosses behind Louis to get to Zayn.

“Hi Harry,” Zayn says, giving him a genuine smile.

“Hi Zayn. Is there a way that you could slow the track down?”

He nods and clicks around on the screen. “How much slower? Did you want the same key?”

“Yeah, same everything, but like a ballad? If you can.”

“Sure thing.”

Harry crosses back to center stage and Louis passes him the microphone complete with a stand. “You probably won’t be jumping around, then, I reckon.”  

Harry nods and takes it. He looks at Louis as he backs offstage. He’s smiling at him now, but more apologetically than anything. Harry exhales as the music begins.

He first actually listened to the song in the past week or so when Niall insisted on introducing him to Liam’s music, and he’d heard it in passing on the radio when it charted. But as he stares at the screen fixed on the back wall, he curses Liam for choosing this one. The _lyrics_. And Harry had to go and think he was being all clever by mixing it up and making it a ballad, when in reality he just exacerbated the romanticism of the song to the tenth degree.

“ _I've tried playing it cool_  
But when I'm looking at you  
I can’t ever be brave  
'Cause you make my heart race”

He sings softly, dropping the octave when he has to, making the song low and raspy in his voice. He keeps his posture straight and focuses directly in front of him, hoping that Louis doesn’t think he’s trying to sing to him. He isn’t. He’s just…connecting really closely with the lyrics as they scroll on the screen. It’s not fair – it’s too easy to close his eyes and picture Louis on the football field, Louis on the dance floor, Louis being one thing – loud, all around.

“ _Something’s gotta give now_  
'Cause I’m dying just to make you see  
That I need you here with me now  
'Cause you've got that one thing”

Christ, what is wrong with him? Harry’s disgusted at how far he’s fallen in a week’s time. _Focus, Styles_. _Just sing_. He tries to picture himself back onstage with White Eskimo and it does help a bit.

He finishes the song after what feels like an eternity and comes out of his little reverie.

He looks around to find that he’s earned enough, if not more, applause than Niall’s performance – a couple of people have even given him a standing ovation, Niall and Liam included, of course. He looks to his right and sees Zayn sizing him up, impressed.

Harry steps back and can’t help but give a tiny little bow, smiling. Louis comes forward and disconnects the microphone from the stand, which he kicks back. “Remarkable voice there, Harry. Did you and Niall have a competition going on?”

Harry nods.

“What do you say?” he calls to the crowd. He doesn’t let them answer, though, angling himself back at Harry, larger-than-life. “Harry wins,” he declares with a cheeky grin.

“Heyyyyy!” Niall shouts from his chair.

Louis shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry, mate, he took a risk, it paid off.” He gestures Harry off the stage. “Thanks for kicking us off right, lads!”

Harry finds his seat again, clasping hands with Niall and Liam.

“Okay, Harry, you sounded good last week, but I didn’t know you could actually sing,” Liam loudly whispers incredulously.

Harry shrugs. “I guess, thanks.”

He looks back at the stage as a girl he recognizes from his economics lecture steps up. She walks over to Zayn and asks him for a song as Louis introduces her to the crowd. She has to shake his shoulder to grab his attention, though, because all the while he’s glaring at Louis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> 1) I hope this is clear, but I just want to throw it out there since I realized it might be confusing - Jeff is *not* Jeff Azoff. He's just an asshole named Jeff. My goal with this AU is to portray a world as realistic as possible of what would happen if 4/5 didn't audition for TXF, so I didn't throw a socialite from Los Angeles into Manchester, don't worry.
> 
> 2) I also don't own, or claim to, One Thing. Just a little disclaimer. :)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!


	5. You Know It's Gonna Make It That Much Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another! This is going much faster, update-wise, than I anticipated. (Because summer, and no life outside of fandom.)

The leaves are starting to pile up. Harry loves it when autumn gets into full swing and he can kick and shuffle them everywhere. Red, yellow, orange, and every shade in-between. He looks up and sees the leaves fall against the architecture of the social sciences building behind him as he leaves his sociology lecture.

“Harry!” The dirty blonde girl he sits next to in class runs down the stairs to catch up to him.

He turns to face her and smiles. “Hi Taylor.”

“Hey, I uh, missed lecture last week. Do you mind passing on what he discussed?”

Harry steps over to the bench near them to drop his bag. “No problem. You okay?”

She grins. “Yes, great, thank you. Just felt a little run down that day. Thanks so much for these,” she says as he hands her the papers. “I’ll just snap a picture of them real quickly.”

Harry nods and takes a seat, zipping his brown suede jacket up as the wind gets stronger.

Taylor passes the notes back to him. “Thank you again, Harry. Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, what?”

She leans into him kindly against the wrought-iron armrest of the bench. “How do you like the course so far?”

Harry widens his arm around the top of the bench but leans back a little. He has a feeling about where this is going. “It’s good. Wish the professor was a bit more active in discussion, but I enjoy the topic. Do you?”

“Yes, I suppose I agree. I’m studying sociology, so it’s quite good that I do.”

Harry smiles.

She bites her lip nervously but pushes on. “D’you want to grab coffee sometime? Not today, I’m sure you’re busy, but maybe after next lecture?”

Harry smiles again, but it’s more forced this time. He clasps his hands together and brings his knees in. She sits down next to him after he moves his rucksack to the ground. “I’d love to see you outside of class, Taylor. But, uh, just coffee, right?”

“As friends, then?” She keeps up her cheery attitude but her face is certainly crestfallen.

Harry feels bad, he does. But he also doesn’t feel apologetic. “It’s not you, it’s me. Promise.” He reaches out and grips her shoulder kindly. “Friends, for sure. And actually, uh, I think I’m usually busy Monday evenings. Tomorrow afternoon, though, are you free at four? The shop on-campus.”

“Yes, that’s good. See you at four.”

He gets up and heads toward the library to wait for his next class, forty minutes from now. Not a minute into his walk, though, he feels someone grab onto the back of his rucksack and bring him to a halt. He whips around, half expecting Jeff or someone connected to him ready to sock him.

“Whaddaya want?” he exclaims, not seeing who it is at first. And then – Oh. It’s Louis, panting and looking rather sheepish.

“Sorry, Harry, just wanted to catch up to you.” He brings his hands to his knees, pretending to be winded.

Harry rolls his eyes mockingly. “You’re not winded, you’re a footballer.” He pauses, then continues, as Louis looks up at him expectantly, “But what do you want, really?”

Louis stands up straight. “Can we walk?” He gestures his head straight ahead and past the library.

Harry is incredibly confused. Louis is teasing him in the toilet, teasing him during karaoke, shifty with him on the football field, flirting with him at the pub, rejecting him at the pub, teasing him again at karaoke, and now seeking him out during school hours. Zayn’s little spiel explained the first few instances, but he’s been genuinely confused since Monday. He had assumed that Louis was trying to be friendly and move on the from the awkward that had ensued on Friday, and he was willing to play along with it so they could both enjoy the karaoke club, but he’s more than a bit pissed to see him looking for him now.

“Yes we can. But what do you want?”

Louis shoves his hands deep in his denim jacket, his right hand brushing a beanie stuffed in there. His hair is free today, smoothed out beautifully across his forehead. Harry lets his eyes quickly wander down and sees he’s wearing black skinny jeans again along with the now-expected black Vans. He indicates them. “And do you own any other shoes?”

Louis looks down as well and laughs lightly. “I do, and they’re called cleats.”

Harry smiles against his better judgment.

Louis continues, saying, “Listen. Harry.”

Harry interrupts. “No more ‘Curly’?” He doesn’t want to be rude but he does feel like making this a bit awkward for Louis – whatever he’s trying to get at.

Louis smirks. “Trying to be serious, you know.”

Harry holds his hands out as if to say “I surrender.”

Louis nods. “Better. Listen, Harry, actually, I dunno where to start with this. To be completely honest I hunted you down because Zayn tore into me on Monday and this is the first time I’ve come across you since. But, uh. I owe you an apology.”

Harry nods slowly and Louis looks at him as though he expects him to say something. “What?” Harry asks. “You told me to listen.”

Louis sighs deeply. “Yes. And – I apologize not for turning you down last weekend, but for how I acted before and since. I think I already said this at the pub but you deserve to hear it from me sober.”

Harry nods again, wondering what exactly Zayn said to him and how harsh he said it to bring Louis down such a big notch. He’s presenting rather humbly right now, his usual exuberance and volume turned down. “Appreciate it,” he mumbles.

Louis keeps going, pushing his hands in front of him as if to make a point. “I’ll lay my cards out on the table because I’ve strung you alone, quite unfairly, for a bit. I’m attracted to you. Very much. It’s not you, it’s me. Promise.”

Harry hears what Louis is saying, but at the same time he can’t help but groan. He’d said those exact words to Taylor mere minutes ago and it was an outright rejection.

Louis pushes on. “You’re fit, you have the nicest face I’ve seen on anyone for a while, you have a voice beyond anything I’ve heard before, and the confidence with which you carry yourself is incredibly impressive. What’s even more impressive is how confident you are with regard to your sexuality. I don’t know, maybe that’s not uncommon in eighteen-year-old lads. It was for me. I spent my first year here sneaking around with random blokes in closets and their rooms and the library after realizing that I didn’t have to outright hide anymore. But I still wasn’t comfortable enough to find someone to be in a relationship with.”

Harry turns to look him in the eye. He’s not even angry right now, he just feels bad. “So you’re not out, and that’s why you said no?”

Louis exhales, swinging his arms back and forth. “I guess it isn’t that simple. My team knows why I never take a girl home, and of course Zayn, too. People who know me on campus wouldn’t be surprised if I started seeing a lad. Don’t, like, start thinking I’m some broken fool, Harry. I’m happy with my life right now. Just not in a place where I can bring someone else into it.”

Harry bobs his head with the beat of their synchronized footsteps. “Football, innit?”

“Zayn got to you, eh?”

“Yes. He read over my essay in the writing lab on Monday morning. It was awkward.”

Louis runs his hands through his hair, setting it straight again. “That’s Zayn for you. He has a good heart. Don’t ever be afraid to ask him for help, with anything. But yes, for the most part, it’s football. I’m graduating this year. I’m trying to get signed onto a team.” He stops, for a moment, and grins straight ahead. “Manchester United…it’s such a long shot, of course, but, you know – the dream.”

Harry interrupts again. “You’ll get it.” _Fuck_. Why doesn’t he have a filter when he needs it the most?       

Louis looks at him, still smiling. “Thanks. I hope. And you know, you have to give certain things up for a dream like that. I wish it wasn’t that way. The industry has progressed, to a degree. But not to the point where I’m willing to put my career on the line just yet. I have my family’s well-being, and the rest of my life, riding on decisions I make right now. So I have to choose carefully.”

“That’s your right, Louis. I just hope you’re not making yourself miserable in the process, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Louis shakes his head. “Genuine concern is always appreciated. I’m in an okay place, really.”

They walk in silence for a minute or two and reach the end of campus. Without saying a word Louis turns them to the left and they start again on the opposite pavement. “I didn’t mean do dump all that shit on you. That really truly was not my intention. I’m here to apologize for leading you on and then doing it again without explaining it the first time. I shouldn’t have played flirty and coy and then danced with you considering all I’ve just said.”

Harry gives Louis a gentle shove. “’Sokay. You’re forgiven,” he says with a smirk.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Really? Because I’m quite sure I just made your first two weeks at uni quite shit.”

“Oh yes, I don’t know how to take rejection at all. Totally trashed me, I was in bed for days.”

Louis crinkles his forehead concernedly. “What?”

“I was teasing. I went to bed before two and got up at eleven. Don’t flatter yourself, mate.”

Louis exhales. “Okay. Good. That’s healthy. Better than me on a good day. But – er, Zayn did tell me he talked to you on Monday.”

“Okay.”

“When he was yelling at me, the other day, for not telling you all this then instead of now, that is. Among other things, he told me that you’re going through a rough time with your roommate.”

Harry blinks, nodding slowly.

“I hope it gets worked out quickly, Harry. That’s…really, I don’t know what to say. No one should have to deal with that.” He really is more somber than Harry’s ever seen him. And it’s not as if Harry has spent hours and days with him – but they’ve had enough encounters together that Harry knows how he normally is. Now, he’s genuine, apologetic, and he looks truly concerned for Harry.

“Dunno how soon I’ll get out. But thanks for that.”

“If you need anything. Hit us up. Obviously Zayn and I are just random students, we can’t do anything to the administration, but if anyone in particular is giving you shit, I’ll do my best to get them to shut it and leave you alone.”

“Yeah, thank you.” Harry smiles. Louis is a good person. He’s dealing with his own demons, it seems, but he can also tell that he cares.

“And I’ve probably steered you far off from where you were headed. Sorry about that.”

“No, just class in a bit. I’m fine.” Harry’s staring directly into Louis’ eyes again. _God damn it, shit, fuck,_ he really wishes he could control himself from time to time.  

“Good. Harry?”

“Yes.” Still staring. He snaps himself out of it, but not as quickly as he should have.

“You’re good at karaoke.”

“You already said that. But thank you.”

“Are you going to come again? We have Monday nights booked in the room now. Your friend Liam helped quite a bit with drawing the crowds out.”

“Yes, I think so. He likes it a lot. It gives him an outlet to perform and kind of revisit what he left, I think. And Niall has a blast too. It’s fun, and you guys host it well.”

“Well if you’re going to be a regular, we should be friends. If you want, of course, feel free to say no.”

Harry smiles. He loves loud Louis, of course, but this genuine Louis is quite nice as well. “I would like that. Liam seems to be getting on well with Zayn, too.”

“Alright, Friend Harry. I’ll see you Monday then.” He winks playfully.

“Yeah. Monday.”

Louis turns to go and then turns back. “This sounds dumb. Can we exchange numbers? In case you need any favors, or anything.”

Harry snorts at the word “favors” but knows what Louis’ getting at. It’s kind of nice to have someone worrying about him like this. He figures Louis’ probably seeing him in the position he was two years ago. “Yeah, here you go.” He hands Louis his phone and takes his.

“Okay, here.” Louis passes his phone back and Harry does, too. “See you.”

Harry nods as Louis leaves, heading toward the library. He heads off to the business school for his next lecture and looks down at his phone to see what Louis left.

_Louis the Tommo_

He snorts, remembering how Louis introduced himself that first karaoke night. Then he mentally kicks himself for not typing something equally witty – _Harry Styles_ , how original – into his own contact name in Louis’ phone, but then realizes there’s no point. Friends don’t need to one-up each other for wit and funny and flirtatious every two seconds. They just are. And maybe this will happen like it is now, and it will be great. He can just _be_ friends with Louis.

*

He’s still feeling quite good about everything by the time he enters his dorm after his last lecture. He doesn’t want to cringe from embarrassment/mortification/sadness/what-have-you when he thinks about Louis now. They’re cool. He might have had the uncomfortable experience of having to turn down a girl earlier (Holmes Chapel is quite small; it wasn’t something he’d had to do for a while) but he has a friend date set up for tomorrow. She’s quite nice and very bright. And his professor hadn’t given their essays back yet but she pulled him aside and let him know that she’d already read his and is impressed. He even thought to text Zayn about it and let him know, to which he’d gotten a _“_ _J_ _”_ back in return.

And then he remembers where he has to go, for at least a few minutes. Well, maybe he won’t be there. But he probably will. In the past few days Harry’s taken to memorizing Jeff’s schedule just so that he can avoid him at any possible time and only cross paths with him when absolutely necessary. Thursdays at four in the afternoon is, unfortunately, one of those times.

He walks in without saying a word and loads his bag up with essentials for the rest of the day and the night. Jeff is there, reading silently. Harry feels the judgment emanate from the right side of the room but tries to let it roll off his back.

His hamper is almost overflowing. He’d feel bad about having so much dirty laundry but he also knows that he’s probably the only eighteen-year-old uni student who even cares about being on top of having clean clothes anyway, so he’s still half a step ahead of the likes of Niall and Liam.

As he switches out his textbooks Jeff clears his throat. He hasn’t spoken to him in a few days and their conversations have been odder and more stilted than ever, ever since the “bigoted arsehole” incident. Harry prepares himself for the worst.

“Saw you on campus today.”

 _Creeper. Stalker,_ Harry thinks.

“You were with the football captain.”

Harry tries not to stop dead in his tracks. He really doesn’t want to give Jeff any ideas about Louis that might jeopardize all that he’s fighting for. “Mmhmm,” he lets slip under his breath.

“Talking to him, you were.”

“I was,” Harry deadpans.

“And?”

He looks at Jeff. “And what? We’re friends. I’ve seen him around campus a couple of times. Good guy.”

“Is he like you?”

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake._ This guy. “What the hell do you mean?”

“Is he gay?” Jeff huffs and acts like he’s being forced to spell out the word cat.

Harry steels himself and faces him dead-on. His first instinct is to stammer something along the lines of “No, I uh, don’t think so,” to try and seem nonchalant about the matter. But he doesn’t want to try too hard. This isn’t his question to answer, regardless of what Louis said about his sexuality being an unspoken, glass secret throughout the university. “Congratulations, you said the word.”

“But is he?”

“Why do you care? I don’t know. I have platonic friends, believe it or not.” He won’t let him get away from answering.

Jeff huffs again and shoves himself back further onto his bed, satisfied, if one can call it that, for now.

Harry throws his bag onto his back and before he sets to leave his room someone knocks on the door. He goes to open it and finds Liam there, bouncing, and he walks right in.

“Good news, mate.”

Jeff glares and then realizes who just walked into his room. “Are you Liam Payne?”

Liam gives him a dirty glance and looks back at Harry. “Come to my room. Niall’s there now too. I’ll tell you then.”

They leave, shutting the door behind them as Jeff calls out, “No one fucking answers anything around here.”

By the time Liam nearly knocks down his own door Harry’s bursting at the seams and confused. They enter his room to find Niall lounging on Liam’s bed eating grapes. Harry’s confusion disappears and is quickly replaced.

“The fuck, Niall?” he asks. Liam just stands behind him, shaking his head.

Niall starts cackling uproariously. “You two are so easy to mess around with. I am enjoying Liam’s bed, I am enjoying the grapes I just snuck out of the dining hall, and your faces are totally worth it. Also, I’m serving as a distraction. Did you tell him yet, Leeyum?!”

“No, I wanted to wait until we got out of his hellhole.”

Harry walks forward and snatches the grapes from Niall, popping some into his mouth as he sits beside him. “Go for it. ‘M all ears.”

Liam beams with pride and excitement as he starts to speak. “Speaking of getting out of your hellhole, I solved your problem for you.”

Harry blinks. “What?”

Niall bounces on the bed, gripping Harry. “Look behind him!”

He does, but all he sees is the other side of the room, empty. _Empty_.

“You can move in with me!” Liam announces. “My roommate is moving off campus. Left this morning. He wanted to move in with his mates or something, God knows he has enough money to drop his housing contract like that.. Anyway, before you let in to me with all those queue rules and etiquette, I put in a request for a specific replacement. You can do that, you know. So you just have to go into the housing office and sort out the details, which if you do by five today, we can move your stuff tonight.”

Harry leaps up and embraces him. “You are a fucking genius.” He pulls back. “Like, I seriously don’t know what to say. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Well?” Niall asks.

Harry turns back to him. “What?”

“Get your motherfucking arse down to wherever housing’s administration is and fix your damn paperwork!”

Harry nods, looking around for where he dropped his bag. “Right, yes, let me – okay, I’ll be back soon, hopefully.”

He heads out as quickly as he came in and he hears Liam mutter “Vile, Niall,” as the two high-five each other.

*

He clears everything with the university offices quickly enough but still makes Liam and Niall wait to help him move his things until Jeff’s in class at eight. They hang around playing FIFA and doing much-procrastinated upon coursework.

Around quarter to eight he realizes that he hasn’t told his mother yet and that she’s probably worrying her head off. “Be right back,” he tells his friends who are grumpily engrossed in textbooks.

He steps into the hallway – _his_ hallway – and taps his mum’s contact. Anne picks up before the first ring is through.

“Harry!”

“Hi Mum.” He leans against the wall opposite _his_ room.

“How are you doing? Is it any better?”

He grins, despite himself. “Yes it is. My friend Liam, you know, the singer I told you about the other day, his roommate up and moved out today. Didn’t like it on campus or something, I think. So he was able to put me down as his next one. Moving later tonight.”

Harry can hear the relief in her voice as she exhales. “Thank goodness, baby. I am so, so happy to hear that.”

“Mmhmm. Me too.” He can hear Niall and Liam throw their books aside – literally – and knows they’re picking up the gaming controllers again.

“And you’ll be with a friend, then, which is even better.”

“It is,” he agrees. “Now that I’m sorted out, how are you all at home?”

“Well I’m much better now, for one,” his mother answers. “But we’re all fine. Missing you, and that includes Dusty.”

Harry sighs, but not so loudly that his mother picks up on it. It’s difficult to get her to talk about anything that doesn’t revolve around him and his leaving for school anymore. “Miss you lot, too. I should get going. We’ll be going up to move stuff soon.”

“Yes, of course. Shoot me a text or something when you’re settled, dear. I’m so happy to hear everything worked out.”   

“Me too,” he says again. “Talk to you later, Mum.”

“Bye love,” she says, her signature sign-off. He ends the call and goes back into the room to find Niall and Liam brawling over a penalty that, according to Niall, “the system called wrong.”

“Shuddup lads,” Harry jokes, jostling the other two around. “Let’s go, think we’re in the clear now.”

As they make their way up to the third floor and to 322 – it’s not the last time he’ll be up here, thanks to Niall, but it is the last time he has to go into this room – Harry feels disturbingly stealthy, as if they’re doing something they aren’t supposed to. He unlocks the door and pulls his suitcases out from under his bed.

“Okay, think we can do this in about an hour?”

Niall starts going through Harry’s closet and Liam makes a beeline to the dresser. “You don’t have that much crap,” Niall offers helpfully.

“Thank God,” Liam mutters under his breath.

Harry can’t help but laugh as he starts stripping his bed. “Thanks for the help, lads.”

“You got it bro.” Liam starts throwing Harry’s pants behind him, missing the suitcase, much to Harry’s dismay.

Thankfully they’re out of 322 by nine and back down to the terrace. Harry insists he’ll do the bulk of the unpacking on his own over the weekend and just makes his bed and shoves the suitcases out of the way. As he and Liam lie in bed later that night he’s once again overwhelmed with appreciation.

“Thanks again, Liam.”

“It’s nothing, Harry. Really. I mean, I prefer it this way too. I didn’t have problems with my roommate but at the same time he did complain about the facilities on campus quite often. Then he up and left. So it’s good.”

“Hmm,” Harry breathes out, settling into his new bed.

“Harry?”

“Yes.”

“You said earlier you talked to Louis.”

“Yeah I did.” He rolls onto his right side to face Liam, even though the room is pitch black. “He apologized for being flip-floppy. We’re friends now, sort of.”

“Oh, that’s good. So we’ll see him and Zayn more, maybe?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s nice. Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Liam.” Harry rolls onto his back again and drifts off to sleep.

*

By the time four o’clock rolls around the next day Harry almost forgets about Taylor. As he rushes over to the coffee shop across the street from the dining hall he starts to worry that he might be doing to her what Louis did to him in a sort of way. He just didn’t want to reject her as a person outright; he’s sure she’s a great friend. He resolves to make that clear today.

He enters the shop at five past four and hears the silver bell attached to the door announce his arrival. She’s in line. He slips in behind her, greeting, “Hi, Taylor.”

She turns around, smiling. She’s in normal school clothes, thankfully – no date attire – although she is wearing bright red lipstick. He thinks it’s quite nice but isn’t about to say so.

“Hi Harry. How was your day?” They move a few steps up the line.

He reads the menu as he answers her, hands in his pockets. “Good. Quiet. Yours?”

“The same.” She smiles wider and steps up to order - a cappuccino. She pays, and finds a seat.

“Just tea, please,” Harry tells the barista. He goes to sit by Taylor.

She puts her chin in the palm of her hand. “Tell me about you.”

Harry leans back, trying to remain casual. “I’m Harry, I’m eighteen, and I’m from Holmes Chapel.” He can’t help but laugh a little, and she does too.

“Taylor, it’s nice to sit with you outside of class. I just – just want to be clear, though, because I had this happen to me last week, I’d like to be just friends with you.”

She nods, still smiling, but pulls back a little. “I know. But I have to ask, why would anyone turn you down?”

Oh, the flattery. He gets up to get their drinks off the bar and passes the coffee to her.

“Thanks.”

“Long story.”

“Yeah, okay. Holmes Chapel, though – that’s close.”

Harry shrugs. “I love Manchester. And it was the best option I had, so it worked out. Where are you from?” He takes a sip of his tea.

“Just outside of London. So I’m used to big cities, but I wanted to live somewhere a little less hectic for now.”

“My best mate here lived in London for a year. I think he liked it, but he’s from a small town – in Ireland – so it was a bit of a culture shock for him.”

They continue talking for about half an hour, going back and forth about their interests, hobbies, and what they’re studying. Harry likes her – she’s easy to talk to.

“So I know you’re not open to anything right now. But out of curiosity, what do you look for in a girl?”

Harry chuckles lightly. He can’t help but think that he didn’t say that he didn’t want a relationship. He said he wanted to be just friends. But he answers anyway. “Don’t really know. I think, uh, I think that it sort of changes, depending on the person.”

She nods. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah. I think you know when you find someone, I guess. What about you?” He listens to her answer from far away, because right behind her, the door opens and someone walks in. That someone is Louis.

Not that Harry should be on edge or anything. But he wants to say hi. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses and a baseball shirt in navy and white with a light fleece coat in hand. Harry takes it all in and wishes he wouldn’t.

As his eyes slowly drift back to Taylor he smiles and nods along, pretending he took in every word she said. “I get that.”

She smiles and finishes up her drink. Louis is in line now, and Harry can feel his stare on him. He takes the sunglasses off and tucks them in the collar of his shirt, raising his eyebrows at Harry, and not in his usual manner, either. It’s as if he’s saying, _“What have we here?”_

Harry smirks ever-so-slightly and turns back to Taylor.

She twirls her cup around in her hands, lipstick stains dotting the edge. “What time is it?”

Harry glances down at his phone. “Four-forty.”

She nods. “Class at five, across campus. I should get going. It was nice spending time with you, Harry.”

He smiles. “Nice seeing you too.”

“Can I get your number? It seems a few of our projects for this course will be quite the effort. Might be nice to have someone to do them with.”

He slides his phone across the table. “Sure. Let me see yours.”

They exchange numbers and she gets up to go, slipping her bag onto her shoulder. “I’ll see you Monday, then.”

“Monday. Bye, Taylor.” She leaves, the bell ringing as the door shuts behind her.

He double-checks her contact to make sure she didn’t leave anything flirty in her wake.

_Taylor Mayhew_

Okay. That’s good.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and as he’s about to stand no one slides into the seat previously occupied by Taylor other than Louis Tomlinson.

Harry just audibly groans, half-playing, and splays his limbs out. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”

Louis just smirks, taking the lid off of his tea to let it cool. “Was someone on a date?”

“You heard me,” Harry insists. “Okay. She asked me out the other day. And because I’m a pushover I couldn’t reject her outright. So I told her we could be friends.”

“How very _generous_ ,” Louis drawls. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he quickly adds after Harry pulls a confused face. “I just mean, you have ladies falling over everywhere for you. You just can’t reject them. I was teasing you.”

“Out to everyone at home, it’s a small town,” Harry explains. “Haven’t dealt with it in a while.”

Louis nods. “That’s good. I admire that. You can leave me here, you know, if you have somewhere to be. Just thought I’d sit here and bother you for a bit.”

Harry grins widely. “You’re not bothering me.”

“I’m glad, then.” Louis takes a sip of his tea. “Blergh. I’ll be right back.” He gets up and adds what is, in Harry’s mind, an ungodly amount of milk to his drink.

“That’s disgusting,” Harry spits playfully as Louis sits back down.

“What?” He looks aghast.

“Only sugar in mine, thank you very much,” Harry explains.

“That, Mr. Styles, is sacrilegious. Milk and sugar or get out.”

Harry scrunches up his nose. “If I wanted milk in my drink I’d take coffee.”

“Are you fucking American or something?” Louis drinks his milky tea as obviously and with as much effort as possible.

“I have broad tastes, thank you very much.”

Louis snorts. “So that was a date, then?”

Harry kicks him under the table.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Harry remembers that he hadn’t told Zayn or Louis yet about his luck with Liam. Oops. “Got a new room.”

Louis’ face brightens more than it already was. “Really? That’s fantastic. Great to hear. Where are you now?”

“Same building, terrace floor. Liam’s roommate up and left, actually, he was able to get me in. So it’s good for everyone. I pity the lad who gets my old room, though.”

Louis nods. “People suck.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Louis finishes his drink.

“Do you have a football game tonight?”

He shoves the lid into the now-empty cup. “Not tonight, but early tomorrow at Leeds.”  He throws his head back and moans. “Have to be up at five to get there, warm up on the field, and be ready in time.”

“That’s too bad. Good luck, though.”

“Thanks.” Louis smiles softly. “Have to get going. Zayn’s trying to become all domestic or some shit and he insisted on cooking for me tonight.”

Harry stands with him. “You do the cooking normally, then?”

Louis truly lets his laugh loose then. “Oh, God no. Can’t cook to save my life. I try, sometimes. Doesn’t work. But Zayn’s on a new health kick or summat and told me off for having takeaway for the third night in a row.”

Harry smiles as he opens the door for Louis, the sun shining in both of their faces as Louis puts his sunglasses back on. “He’s a great bloke, from what I know, though.”   

“Oh absolutely. I couldn’t have asked for a better mate. See you around, Harry,” Louis says as he turns toward the off-campus apartments.

“Bye,” Harry calls after him.

That was nice.

And _nice_ is how the next week progresses. He settles into his room with Liam, finally getting the last of his things sorted on Sunday as he tacks his posters to the wall again. He jokes around with Zayn and Louis when they show up early on Monday and help set up a bit. And he and Taylor have a laugh over a TV show they have in common during lecture. He hasn’t seen Jeff around campus once. Week Three, Step Who-Knows-What of Harry is Now an Adult, done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm a bit worried this one was too slow, but some pretty important things happened so it kind of had to be this way. A shitload of stuff (super excited to get on writing it) happens in the next chapter, though, and it will probably be pretty long. :-)


	6. When We Can Say Goodnight and Stay Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut! Fair warning. And like...this is my first time giving it a go, so please let me know if anything is horrendously off about it.
> 
> In other news, I wrote this yesterday flat. It's the chapter I've been most looking forward to since I planned everything out. ^_^ So I hope you like it.

“No, no, no, no!” The whole room shouts and boos as Derby scores the final goal against Doncaster. All except for Niall, of course, who stands and cheers “Wey hey!” nearly knocking everyone’s pint over in the process. Not to mention the stares he gets from around the restaurant. He sits down sheepishly yet unapologetically. “Derby County!” he throws in for good measure.

Louis rolls his eyes and shoots him a playful glare. “You, my good Irishman, are on the wrong side of history.”

Niall scoffs and drinks. “Since when did all of Manchester decide to go for Doncaster?”

Louis shrugs and puts his feet up on the Harry and Niall’s side of the booth. His Vans brush Harry’s knee and Harry shifts, trying to minimize contact. “I’ve had a good influence on this city, what can I say?”

The five of them – Harry, Louis, Niall, Liam, and Zayn – are out to dinner at a local pub and restaurant after karaoke. Zayn and Liam had initiated it and dragged them out there, but everyone was happy to go, of course. They’re at a table and actually having a meal with their drinks because Zayn insists it’s important to do things other than bum around at bars once in a while. That’s not to say they’re not all pretty far gone at this point, though.

Liam orders another round for the table as the bartender switches channels. The Xtra Factor comes on and he groans.

“You can’t escape it,” Harry hisses to him across the table. Liam’s sandwiched between Louis and Zayn although he’s certainly more up in Zayn’s space than Louis’.

“I can try,” Liam counters. “I think they want me to go up for the final in December or summat.”

Zayn turns to Liam, throwing his arm over him in the process.

“Quit poking me!” Louis screeches from the other end.

“That’d be epic, mate. Love to see you up there.”

Liam smiles. “Maybe I could take guests with me.”

“Hell yeah!” Niall shouts. “X Factor, here we come!”

“Yeah, you can come too,” Liam mumbles, caught up in a glance with Zayn. He rubs his head into his chest like a cat. Zayn just chuckles and throws his own head back against the headrest.

Their drinks arrive. Harry takes a sip of his beer and winces a little. It’s not awful, but beer has never been his favorite drink. “’M getting the next one. We need something fruity.”

All eyes turn to him. “Fruity?” Liam asks.

“Should probably stop drinking, mate,” Niall jokes, punching him in the shoulder lightly.

“What kind of _fruit_ ,” Louis questions. 

“Like…” Harry puts his mug down. “Dunno, I’ve had a couple of nice martinis. Strawberry, lime…”

Louis bites his lip as if he’s about to say something but stops. “Didn’t like the tomato-vodka cocktail I whipped up for you a while ago?” he teases instead.

“So _that’s_ what that was? No, I didn’t. Can’t stand tomato and can’t stand vodka without something sweet to mellow it out. You’re nasty.”

Louis shrugs. “I can take my drinks, is all.”

Everyone at the table laughs as Harry grumbles.

The host of the show, Caroline Flack, comes on and starts talking about the contestants who had just performed. They all turn their head to the television.

“She’s hot,” Harry offers.

Again, the attention is on him as everyone raises an eyebrow.

“What? I can appreciate the female form. Doesn’t mean I want to take her home.”

“Like you appreciate that girl you were with last Friday?” Louis asks cheekily. And with a hint of jealousy, Harry might add.

The table’s attention stays on Harry.

“She’s a friend,” he insists as he kicks Louis’ feet off of their booth.

“Right. A friend.” Louis waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fuck off.”

“Who is she?” Liam asks, still leaning against Zayn. Louis turns to both of them and makes faces behind their backs, making Niall crack up.

“She’s in my sociology lecture. Louis is making this more ‘n it is. Not seeing her like that. We haven’t hung out since.”

“I kid, I kid.” Louis surrenders. “But you’re on the defensive.”

“Because you’re being an arsehole.” Harry is quick to learn that Drunk Louis has no filter whatsoever.

“Speaking of women,” Zayn breathes, turning to the TV again. Caroline is talking about Little Mix, the girl group who won the show the previous year. His eyes are fixated on Perrie, the one with light lavender hair. “She’s fantastic.”

Harry’s eyes go to Liam immediately, who starts to look a little uncomfortable.

“ _Someone_ fancies her,” Louis teases.

“Yeah, maybe a little,” Zayn admits. Liam closes his eyes but stays pressed against Zayn, who doesn’t really seem to mind.

“Hey, Liam, do me a favor and introduce me to them in December. They’ll probably be there. I just want to meet her, I swear, I won’t embarrass you or anything.”

Liam laughs hollowly. “Sure. Anything for you, mate.”

Zayn grins and pats him on the head. “You’re a good bloke, Liam.”

Harry sighs and drops his own head against the back of his chair. Life is too complicated for him to comprehend.

Louis’ still pulling faces at Zayn and Liam but soon grows tired. He stands up. “You two are gross,” he announces as he crosses around the table and drops himself next to Harry. “Sitting over here now.”

Harry looks over at him and Louis scrunches up his face, letting his head fall to Harry’s shoulders.

Okay. This has to be a friend thing. Friends lean against each other all the time. Then again, there’s Liam and Zayn right across from them, and who knows what’s happening with that. Louis’ been paying extra attention to Harry ever since they were two drinks in and he’s more than a little uncomfortable with it. It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ the attention, but rather that it seems Louis has a bit of a cycle going on.

He brings his head forward again, knocking Louis’ off in the process as well.

“Heyyy…” Louis protests.

Harry shrugs, trying to finish the beer so as not to appear rude to Liam.

“Let me cuddle.”

“Too bad.” Maybe Harry’s being too harsh. Zayn looks up and eyes the two of them, Harry avoiding eye contact with anyone but the bottom of his mug and Louis pouting.

“What time is it?” Zayn asks.

“Don’t wanna go home,” Louis counters.

“Eleven,” Niall offers.

“What about my fruity drink?” Harry asks, still looking down his mug.

Zayn laughs. “Those things are expensive, mate. Ready to drop fifty pounds on Monday night drinks?”          

Harry lets his head hit the table. Louis pats his back. “Why?” is all he can muster.

“What, Harry?” Louis is rubbing him now.

“Stop touching me.”

The atmosphere at the table changes like a light’s been flipped. Louis gingerly takes his hand off of Harry’s back. “Sorry.”

Liam sits up. “Zayn’s right. It’s getting late. You can get the first round next time, Harry.”

Harry sighs, sitting up straight and looking over at Niall. He looks concerned for him. “You okay?” he mouths without saying a word.

Harry nods slightly and gestures for Niall to let him out. He gets up, and Harry scoots out. He starts to walk outside but no one follows. He hears Liam flag down the waitress behind him to grab their last tab.

“That,” Zayn says loudly, “was utterly unnecessary, Tomlinson.”

The last thing Harry hears before he opens the door is Louis trying to protest.

Harry sits on the front stoop of the restaurant, head in hands. This was going great. He had a group of friends down. Niall and Liam to spend most of his time with and then Louis and Zayn every now and then. He liked having them on his side, showing the three of them the ropes of uni and the city. And Louis was okay, at first. It was great. Harry can admire from afar and let his mind drift to “someday.” But he can’t handle Louis being all over him, and needy, and smiling, and loud. Not like that.

Someone sits down next to him. He turns and looks to his right, expecting Niall or maybe Zayn.

“I’m an awful person.” It’s Louis.

Harry looks back down at his hands and starts picking at his nails. “You confuse me.”

He laughs, but the sound waves echo and bounce around the tiny street they’re on. It sounds empty. “ _I_ confuse me, Harry.”

“I like being friends with you, Louis.”

Louis sighs. “I like that too. But I suppose I’ve quite messed that up now, haven’t I?”

“Kind of. You have a cycle, Louis. You say something and act the opposite the next time I see you. Rinse. Wash. And repeat.”

“If it helps – that’s not what I’m going for.”

Harry looks at him, and Louis looks genuinely upset. “That doesn’t matter, though, because it’s me that gets fucked in the end.” He pauses, realizing how that last sentence came out. “And not like that.”

The corners of Louis’ mouth turn up slightly. He gives Harry a gentle shove.

“I wish I could stop thinking about you like that. But I can’t. You’re probably the most captivating person I’ve ever met.” The alcohol is still in full force, that’s for certain.

“You flatter me, Harry. You’re captivating, too. Why do you think I can’t keep my hands off you?”

“Stop it.”

Louis keeps looking at him. “Maybe I’m serious.” He runs his hand through his hair, still keeping eye contact. “Maybe we could give this thing a go.”

Harry just stares at him, blinking. “What makes you say that?”

Louis digs at the dirt ground with his Vans. “Not what just happened. I was – I was thinking of asking you, earlier, but wanted to wait a bit. You sang good tonight.”

“I sang _well_.”

“That too.”

Harry joins him in the dirt-kicking. “What are you saying, then?”

Louis turns to look at him again. His blue eyes are sparkling in the night but still gleam hesitance. “I’m saying – saying that I think we could work this out somehow. Maybe. If you want. I promise I’m not an arsehole all of the time. Only when I’m confused. And I think I’m not confused anymore.”

Louis is telling him he wants him. Louis is telling him they can work something out somehow. He thinks. “You’re confusing me now.”

“Then I’ll shut up for a bit.” He keeps Harry’s eye contact. Harry’s grateful he still has the alcohol in his system to keep him going through this.

“No. Now kiss me, you fool.”

And Louis does.

*

Harry doesn’t have any lectures on Tuesday. It’s always a much-appreciated break in his week, although today he wishes that he had something compulsory to keep his mind busy. There’s always reading to do, of course, and he has an essay or two that he could get a head start on – but he can’t think very well right now.

Last night had been…odd. Louis had kissed him. They were drunk, but after they’d pulled away as their friends exited the pub, they’d exchanged a smile. Something happened there. And Christ, the kiss was fantastic. It’s all Harry’s been able to focus on.

He wants to see Louis. He wants to call, or text, Louis. But at the same time, again, they were both under the influence. He wants last night to have meant something, but he doesn’t want to appear clingy either.

So he goes for a walk to clear his head, slipping on a grey, lumpy jacket along with his orange beanie. He leaves through the front door, opting to take the staircase instead of the emergency exit. Liam always insists that they shave thirty seconds off of their travel time but Harry isn’t about to set off any alarms.

He half-jumps through the swinging glass doors and canters down the four or five steps in front of the building. The wind is cool and, again, the colorful leaves are swirling everywhere. Lectures are in session right now, so it’s fairly dead in terms of students milling about.

“Hey, you.”

Harry hears the voice and snaps around. It’s Louis, sitting on the bench outside of the door, waiting for something. Oh. Waiting for _him_.

“Jesus, Louis, you need to stop sneaking up on me. I do have some enemies around here, you know.” Harry climbs back up the steps and stands in front of him.

Louis looks sheepish. “Sorry about that.” He scoots to his right, patting the empty space beside him. “Have a seat.”

Harry sits down. He can only imagine what’s coming. “So what brings you to the first-years’ dormitory this fine Tuesday?”

Louis smiles. The sun is shining down and framing his face in such a lovely manner. He’s radiant. And he looks _happy_ , in a manner different than Harry’s seen before. “Just, you know.” He stretches out. “Wanted to come by and have a proper chat with the lovely lad I snogged last night.”

He’s still grinning. He’s looking at Harry, and he’s grinning. He’s happy. Louis is happy that he snogged Harry last night.

“Are we good to talk here?” Louis asks.

“Um. From him, for now, yeah. But, I mean…”

Louis stands up. “We can walk. There’s a nice path over that way.” He starts going down the stairs.

Harry follows him. “Did you live here your first year?”

“Yeah.” Louis nods as they turn left toward the shaded pathway framed by trees, half-colorful, half-bare, on either side. “It’s nice out.”

“Understatement of the century,” Harry murmurs. “I love autumn.”

“It’s a lovely time of year. Football season starting off. Jacket weather, but not too cold.”

Harry looks over at him. Louis has medium-wash denim skinnies on with another baseball tee and his fleece jacket over it. Harry suddenly wishes he had thought to bring a better coat than his baggy jumper-like one. He absentmindedly takes the beanie off and shoves it in his pocket, grateful that he isn’t in joggers at least. “You walked all the way to my building to talk to me about the weather? A bit creepy, innit?”

Louis laughs. No, he doesn’t laugh – he giggles. “No, I didn’t.”

They walk in silence for a few seconds and Harry is nearly bursting at the seams to kiss Louis again.

“I suppose I should start by apologizing again, though,” Louis says.

Harry watches a leaf flutter in front of him.  “You don’t have to apologize for everything, you know.”

“I guess. Should’ve texted you, or something, though, instead of waiting till midday. I wanted to talk it out.” Louis reaches out and grabs the same leaf before it hits the cold, hard stone pathway, turning it over in his hands.

“That’s okay.”

“I liked snogging you last night.”

Harry smiles and looks at Louis, a little boastfully. “Thank you?”

“You’re quite welcome. I talked to Zayn some more this morning, after we’d both sobered up. He – he helped me sort things out, in my head, a bit.” Louis tucks the leaf into his pocket.

“He’d be good for that.”

Louis nods. “So, uh – again, I wasn’t sober last night but I meant what I said, you know.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “I was hoping.”

He gestures with his hands as he speaks. “So I thought I’d come out here. Tell you that. And then ask you on a proper date, maybe?”

Harry grins. He looks at Louis, again, who’s hair is swept about by the wind so that his fringe is brushing his eyes a bit. Louis’ breath is quickening.

 _Play it cool, play it cool_ , Harry thinks to himself. “What did you have in mind?”

Louis’ mouth turns up into a smile. “There’s a nice restaurant barely a mile from here. Dinner on Thursday?”

“Yes. That sounds fantastic.”

They stop walking and Louis turns to face him directly. “I’m excited, Harry.”

Harry knows he’s not talking just about Thursday. “What made you change your mind?”

“Because life has more than one dimension.”

“Zayn told you that, didn’t he?”

Louis smiles, then blushes. “Yes. But he’s right.”

Harry nods. “I agree.” He starts walking back the way they came, Louis following him. “How is this going to work, though?”

“Yeah,” Louis answers softly. “Yeah – I figure that not much has to change. My team can know I’m seeing someone. Zayn, Liam, Niall, obviously. I’m not particularly close with anyone else. I dunno if I’m comfortable, you know, snogging out and about or anything, though.”

Harry nods. There’s a catch. A glass closet, of sorts, it seems. But he thinks it’s livable. “I’m okay with that.”

Louis places a hand on him. It doesn’t feel like a friend touching him, though. Louis squeezes his thumb into the center of his back. It’s intimate. The kind of touch no one else would pick up on unless they know what they’re looking for. _Yes_. Harry is okay with this. He smiles at Louis, probably embarrassingly so.

“Thank you.”

*

Harry needs the next thirty-six hours to pass quickly. It’s painful, really. He should have asked if they could have dinner Wednesday. Or that night. He just wants to talk to Louis but he feels like that’s all a bit too clingy considering they haven’t even had their first date yet. But after tonight, Niall and Liam have assured him that he can text him funny stuff and cute stuff and really, all the stuff he wants, as long as he keeps a reasonable daily limit upon himself. He can’t wait.

“What do I fucking wear?” he yells out, half to Liam and Niall and half to himself as he paws through his closet at six-forty on Thursday evening. He’s meeting Louis halfway between their buildings in twenty minutes exactly. He’s been pacing around his room nervously for nearly an hour, much to Liam and Niall’s entertainment and chagrin.

“We’ve given you a bunch of suggestions, mate,” Liam mumbles as he throws his miniature football till it bounces the ceiling and then catches it again.

“Jeans and a t-shirt,” Niall offers, picking his head up from his sound mechanics textbook.

Liam and Harry stare at him.

“Harry’s going to a formal restaurant. He needs to wear trousers. And not a t-shirt.”

Niall huffs, pretending to be affronted. “Harry is the king of skinnies, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve got black, that should work…” he sorts through his trousers until he finds the right pair. “Not wearing a t-shirt, Niall,” he mumbles, head buried in the thick of the closet.

“What color are his eyes?” Niall asks in return, a bit abruptly.

“Blue.” Harry spits the answer out immediately. He could never forget what Louis’ eyes look like.

“Why do you care what color his eyes are?” Liam asks, blinking at Niall incredulously.

“’Cause.” Niall sits up. “Wear a blue top. Subtle, yet effective.”

Harry and Liam are speechless. Not because Niall’s suggestion is so out-of-this-world – it’s quite clever, but not ingenious – but because he went from “jeans and a t-shirt” to “subtle, yet effective” in the span of two minutes.

Harry pulls out a dark blue button-up and holds it against the black slacks.

Liam and Niall each give him a thumbs-up.

Harry changes, wriggling into his trousers. They may not be his signature jeans, but they’re still impressively tight.

“Dunno how you do that,” Liam comments wryly. If Harry is the king of skinnies, then Liam is the king of extra-large trousers on a small frame.

He steps out from between the closet and bed, pulling on a pair of his favorite black ankle boots. Those are the one thing he’d decided on instantaneously. He spins around, mock-showing off to his friends.

“Hot,” is Liam’s offering.

“Very,” Niall adds.

Harry shoots them a smile of appreciation and starts fixing his hair in front of the mirror, arranging his curls so that they’re just so.

He paces around for a few more minutes and then resolves to head out. “Here I go,” he mutters as he tucks his wallet, keys, and phone into his pockets.

“Get it!” Niall encourages him.

“And if you need any help with that, just say I’ve banned you from coming home tonight!” Liam yells out as Harry shuts the door, rolling his eyes.

He walks far too quickly than he needs to, of course, and is there four minutes early despite how long it took him to get ready. He paces up and down the  pavement between the bench and crosswalk light, waiting for Louis. He’s thinking of the “well-wishes” sent from Liam and Niall despite himself. He would desperately like to not go home tonight. He leans against the pole, tilting his head back and groaning to himself. If a sloppy, drunken kiss got him as excited as it did on Monday than he can’t fathom what anything else would do.

He opens his eyes to find Louis staring at him quizzically. _Oh, shit_. He had groaned audibly.

“Hi,” Harry squeaks, suddenly nervous. Why should he be nervous? The hard conversations are over, and he handled those with ease, if he does say so himself. Now comes the fun part. He gets to get to know Louis. He gets to _date_ Louis.

“Nervous?” Louis approaches him. He’s wearing a cream-colored button down and is donning black trousers as well. They hug his fit curves perfectly. His hair and fringe is just messy enough to be perfect, spread about his head and sticking up in some places. Harry just wants to groan again.

Harry stands up straight, scoffing. “Who, me? Never. You look fantastic, Louis.”

Louis grins and reaches forward to grip Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Styles. You’re quite ravishing yourself, if I do say so.”

Harry scoffs. They cross the street. “Please. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I had two little birds chirping around me all afternoon telling me what to wear, how to look.”

Louis smiles again, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Where are we going?”

“Rosso. Just down this street and around a corner a bit. “I’m on good terms with the owners – they support the football team and have taken a liking to me.”

“Fancy,” Harry offers.

“I do try.”

When they arrive at the restaurant Louis opens the door for Harry, both of them smiling like idiots. Harry doesn’t know quite what this is.

Not the restaurant – it’s the kind of place he’d go with his grandparents on holidays, he would never dream of taking a date there. He supposes that being the captain of your uni’s football team has some impressive perks. There’s a live pianist and violinist playing classical music up on a small stage and glitzy chandeliers are scattered across the ceiling. He looks to Louis, impressed. “Nice,” he breathes.

No, he’s confused, and in a good way, because he’s amazed at how easy he and Louis bounce off of each other. Their conversation is easy, which he credits to the thick layer of chemistry that’s hovering between them at all times. He’s finding it really, really hard to focus now that thoughts of breaking that bubble later have come into his mind.

“I know. Mr. and Mrs. Ferdinand, the owners, are really great people. They might be in tonight.”

Louis wants to introduce Harry to his people. His breath quickens as Louis steps up to the hostess’ podium and gives her his name. He turns back to Harry to motion him to join.

They’re seated at a table with a candle between them and poured glasses of red wine. Harry grins like a fool at Louis until he asks him what the matter is. Harry just holds up the wine glass to toast him. “To fruity drinks!”

Louis rolls his eyes but entertains him. They each take a sip. “If it was _wine_ you wanted then we could’ve had that a while ago.”

Harry shrugs. “Well martinis are always best when it comes to fruit cravings. But for class, go red or go home.”

“Try telling that to Niall,” Louis chuckles.

They get lost in conversation mocking their respective friends until their waiter arrives and they order.

By the time the appetizer, an olive and cheese plate, comes out, Harry’s two glasses of wine in.

“You okay, Harry?” Louis smirks at Harry, who’s obviously flushed.

He puts his glass down. “Can’t hold anything for shit. Always been like that.”

Louis leans back in his seat a bit. “That’s fine. It’s cute.”

Harry crosses his arms and calls their waiter over to ask for a glass of water. “Not cute when you want to stay sober,” he adds to Louis.

“I’m done too.” Louis finishes his glass. “Tell me. I don’t know much about you outside of school. What do you want to do after uni?”

“Umm.” Harry twirls his finger around the rim of his glass. Very classy, he’s sure of it. “Not one hundred percent sold on anything yet. I mean, I figure business and sociology will give me an okay amount of leverage for most things.”

Louis nods. “What did you do at home? Besides music.”

“I worked in a bakery.” Harry blushes, and it isn’t just from the alcohol this time.

“So you bake?” Louis pops an olive into his mouth. Harry is far more turned on by that than he should be. He glances around and just sees businesspeople and elite folks around them. He feels as though he’s having sinful thoughts in church. At least he looks mature.

He gulps. “Yeah. It’s fun. Relaxing. Not that I’ve ventured into the dormitory kitchens, though. They’re a bit nasty.”

“I have a kitchen.”

Harry smiles. “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” Oh – just – _fuck_. They have a few seconds of semi-awkward silence where Louis flips his signature eyebrow raise until Harry continues hastily, “Cookies, pies, cakes. Like I said, it’s fun.”

“Sure. Fun.” Louis winks but Harry thinks he might have imagined it.

“Do I even know what you’re studying?” Harry flips the questioning.

“Football,” Louis answers cheekily.

“Not even the best can play for forever, mate. You know, lectures. Assuming you go.” Harry takes a sip of water, trying to cool down a little.

“Drama and English Literature. And, for your information, I’m doing quite well. Couldn’t exactly stay on the team otherwise.”

Harry’s intrigued. “You perform? I mean, you organized a karaoke group, of course you perform, but I figured it was just, you know, presenting stuff.”

Louis shakes his head. “I was quite into drama, theatre, musicals, in high school. I almost –” Now it’s his turn to blush, but Harry urges him to continue. “Almost auditioned for the X Factor a few years ago. Liam’s year, actually. Never got around to actually sending in my application, though. I’m not the strongest soloist. I still kind of think what could have happened, though.”

Harry blinks. “I almost auditioned then, too. April eleventh.”

Louis leans back, impressed. “That was going to be my date.”

“Destiny, then. I didn’t meet you there so it happened here.” He offers his water glass for another toast and Louis obliges.          

Their meals arrive and Harry has to turn down a third glass of wine. Louis does, too.

“So you went into football instead of performing?”

“Yep. Got into football seriously after my GSCEs.” Louis nods. “And then justified the drama degree to my mum by tacking literature onto it. Zayn’s quite helpful with that bit.”

“Do you ever think about what you’ll do with the degree? After?”

“Yes. I want to teach, I think. Maybe high school. Part of what – of what got me through it, was my drama teacher. He’s a special person. I’d love to be that for someone, you know?”

“That’s admirable.” The food is great. And Harry’s a bit concerned, because there isn’t much of it and the prices weren’t on the menu.

“Thanks.”

“Louis?” Harry drops his voice, confused about something the more he looks around them.

“Harry?” Louis leans forward, mock-exaggerating how Harry said his name.

“Very funny. But, seriously – is it okay for us to be here? I know you said you’re on good terms with the owners, but, like – there’s a lot of people here who look – look like they’re important. What if…?” He trails off, trying not to be too overt.

Louis laughs lightly and draws away from the center of the table again, exasperated at the candle and moving it a little to his left. “We’re good here. It, ah, attracts high-profile people.” He does drop his voice, though. “I recognize a few faces, myself. Harry, everyone has secrets. If anyone here tries to fuck me over I can get back at them easily. So at places like this everyone has an unspoken contract going on, for lack of a better term.”

Harry’s eyes widen. _Okay_.

“Public lives versus private lives, they’re all more complicated than they seem. Everyone’s. And if you’re successful, or on the road to success, that makes it all the worse. Never believe anything unless you see it with your own eyes.”

“That…that makes sense. I guess.”

Louis shrugs. “Don’t worry. It’s hard to get until you start to live it.”

“Yeah.” He looks around more, though, and starts to imagine what’s happening around him but is hidden.

When their dessert is cleared away – a heavenly pair of cannolis – the waiter comes with the check. “Mr. Ferdinand isn’t here today, I’m sorry, Louis.”

“That’s fine. Tell him I send my best.”

“I’ll do that. I applied the usual on his behalf.”

“Thank you.” Louis takes the check.

Harry leans across the table as if to grab it but Louis holds it out of his reach. “Let me –”

“Nope. I asked you.”

“Let me get my part, at least, this place can’t be cheap.”

“It’s not cheap, but it’s certainly affordable when the owner golfs with your coach. And, you know, me on occasion, but I’m not good so I try to stay away from the green.”

“I golf,” Harry throws in helpfully.

“Of course you do.” Louis looks up at him from the little folder.

*

They step into the chilly night air and Harry pulls his suede jacket on. Louis’ wearing something a bit more like a trench coat. It’s nine now, almost on the dot, and the sun has just set. Harry can see the stars despite the city lights. Louis follows Harry’s eyes up. “I like when you can see them. They’re a lot brighter at home, though.”

“Yeah. Thank you for dinner.”

“My pleasure, Harry.”

Harry has to close his eyes and look back at the night sky to steel himself after hearing Louis say “pleasure.” He breathes in and out for a few moments and when he looks down again Louis’ not there. Rather, his silhouette is waiting a few yards away, looking at him expectantly. Harry has never taken bigger strides in his life.

The walk back to campus is painful. They barely talk and the silence between them is not uncomfortable, but filled with tension. Their hands brush each other’s accidentally a few times but neither actually grabs on. The wind picks up as they near campus and Harry brushes through his hair with his fingers, straightening it out. He hears Louis’ breath hitch and then shove his hands in his pockets. They come across the off-campus flat first.

Harry stops, and they look at each other expectantly. He’s about to pull the stupid line that Liam gifted him, about not being able to go back, but before he manages the guts for that Louis looks around them, grabs his arm, and pushes him against a pillar. Before he can process anything Louis’ mouth is on his and they’re kissing again. Finally.

Harry closes his eyes and takes it in. He can’t really describe the smell, or the taste, as he feels Louis glide his tongue across his lower lip. Harry lets his mouth fall open just enough to let Louis in. He moans ever so lightly as he loops his arms over Louis’ head and rests them on his shoulders. Louis’ hands started on his waist but are slowly moving down to rest on Harry’s protruding hipbones.

He pulls away all too soon, sucking gently on Harry’s lower lip as he does so. “Want to give you a proper, sober song,” he whispers.

Harry blinks at him, gently biting where Louis’ mouth just was on his lip. It’s his turn to raise his eyebrows. “Okay,” is all he breathes.

“Did you want to come up for a minute?” Louis asks cheekily but still flustered.

Harry follows him inside. “More’n a minute.”

They get off on the fourth floor and Louis grabs his hand gently. They stop at flat number 430 and Louis slowly opens the door. Harry steps in behind him. The entryway is dark but there’s a light on in the living area. Zayn is stretched out on the couch, in a phone call.

“No, not like that. Listen for a minute. I don’t want to, don’t –” He catches Louis and Harry as they walk in and hang their coats on the wall.

“I’ll call you back in a few minutes. Hang on.” Zayn ends the call. “Hi Harry.”

“Hello,” Harry greets lowly. He clears his throat, embarrassed. “Hi Zayn.” He repeats the greeting.

Louis rolls his eyes and leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Have you quite finished,” he mumbles under his breath.

Zayn smirks. “I’ll get out of your hair. Text me, Lou.” He slips on a pair of Converse and grabs his keys, gone in thirty seconds. “See you, Harry.”

“Bye.”

Louis stands straighter after the door shuts. “My flat.” He gestures around and Harry tries to take it in. He peers around at where Zayn was sitting and sees a couch, a recliner, and a rather nice television. On the left is a dining bar separating the living area from the kitchen, which is quite spacious indeed. Harry hopes Louis knows he wasn’t kidding about baking for him.

“It’s dark,” is all Harry comments.

He sees Louis smile through the shadows. He kicks off his Vans. Harry follows suit, unzipping the backs of his boots and kicking them by the rug. He’s anxious, but not nervous. He wants to get this going. He walks forward in his bare feet and holds onto both of Louis’ shoulders, gently pinning him to the wall. “Don’t care about your flat,” he breathes into his face. “Sorry. Show me your room.”

Louis smirks and slips out from under Harry. He notices the size difference again. It’s not huge, but there, and he likes it.

“Okay. That works, too,” Louis tells him as he turns into the shallow hallway on the right and grabs the left door handle.

Harry walks in behind him and holds onto Louis’ waist. And it’s such a nice waist. He grips it harder. Louis makes a strangled sound that’s half of a reaction to a tickle, half of a sultry groan.

Louis crawls onto the bed, flipping a small lamp on, and Harry sits, too. Louis crawls onto him and just barely straddles his hips, kissing him again. Immediately after making contact with his lips Louis tangles his right hand in Harry’s curls. “Wanted to do that,” he whispers between pecks, “for forever.”

Harry groans deeply as Louis yanks a little. “Like that.”

“You like it when I pull your hair?” Louis teases. This is moving more quickly than Harry could have hoped for.

“Yesss,” he hisses, letting his head get jerked back with his hair. He feels his cock twitch under Louis’ hips. He can tell that Louis feels it too, because he closes his eyes and rocks onto Harry again.

Harry lets himself fall back onto the soft bed, his head hitting the pillow as Louis stays rooted on his hips, rolling a third time. He leans forward again, though, on top of Harry now, and his hand still in his hair as the other traces Harry’s mouth.

“Lou…” Harry’s voice goes deep again.

He breathes over Harry. “I told you that you looked nice tonight, right?”

Harry nods his head, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

“You look nice now, too.”

“You too,” Harry murmurs as he brings his own hand up to mess up Louis’ perfectly styled hair. Louis closes his eyes and hums against Harry’s mouth.

“That feels good.”

Harry keeps kissing him, letting his tongue dart in and out of his mouth and tickle his lips lightly, Louis doing the same to him. Eventually the pressure in his tight and unforgiving slacks becomes too much. And also, he really wants to see if they can start losing clothing. Especially Louis. But he mostly needs a moment to breathe.

“Mmm…” Harry tries to get a word out.

“Mmmm…” Louis responds.

Harry juts his face out so Louis pecks his chin next. “Louis.”

“What?”

“Can you roll off for a minute? Just a minute,” he’s quick to add.

Louis obliges and Harry sits up against the headboard, trying to shift his hips subtly to hide the very obvious hard-on he’s sporting. He runs his own hand through his now-messy curls. He exhales and looks over at Louis, who’s sprawled on his back on the other side of the bed, breathing deeply. Harry’s eyes wander down and notices his cock pressed against his inner thigh. Harry gets harder than he thinks possible.

Louis turns to face him and grins cheekily as he sees where Harry’s attention is. “My eyes are up here, you know.”

Harry looks up quickly. “Sorry,” he breathes.

Louis laughs. Harry could listen to that laugh forever. It’s like he’s shooting rays of sunlight into the dimly lit room. He can’t help but grin in a way that he’s sure is utterly goofy.

He surges forward to tackle Louis, this time straddling him. He kisses him on the mouth but quickly moves down his neck until he settles his face in the crook of Louis’ collarbone, sucking hard.

Louis lets out a moan so low that even Harry isn’t sure he could pull off.

“Is that your spot?” Harry murmurs against his skin.

Louis’ breath hitches. “Yes.”

Harry licks and sucks over the entire area until he’s quite sure he’s left a smattering of purple bruises along Louis’ collarbone and neck. He breaks to look down and sees Louis’ face contorted in such a way that Harry goes breathless, utterly blown away that _he_ did that to Louis. He wants to go further, to see Louis’ fit chest and rub his fingers over his abs and pecs and nipples…

“Can I get this?” he asks, pulling at the collar of Louis’ shirt. He accidentally rolls against Louis’ hips again in the process, making them both moan. “Fuck.”

Louis nods, giving Harry a hand with the buttons, but halfway down, just as Harry starts to trail his index finger down the bare part of his chest, he pauses and puts a hand over Harry’s. Harry stops and looks down on him with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Your turn to roll over, though.”

Harry flips off of him, trying not to make any noise as the pressure in his pants grows more unbearable.

Louis sits up and straightens his now-untucked, barely buttoned shirt. “Harry,” he says softly.

“Louis,” Harry groans back, trying to lie seductively on his side, stretching his long body along the bed.

Louis looks at him with what can only be described as a mixture of fondness and complete lust. “I want to do this.”

“Me too.” Harry stretches a hand out and slips a finger into Louis’ belt loop, yanking a little. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“I haven’t, before, though.” Louis looks nervous and slightly embarrassed at his confession. He rubs Harry’s index finger, still in his trousers, gently.

Harry blinks. This he can’t believe. “At all? You said…” he thinks back to Louis’ admission about his first year when he gave him the Just Friends talk.

“Yeah, no, I mean…most everything. That year was just full of fooling around. But you know, I’ve been quite celibate since – unfortunately. High school was just full of girls, and, yeah, it’s been a while.”

“Ever the braggart.” Harry pulls harder on the belt loop. “I can do either, you know.”

Louis looks at him, his eyes glazing over. Harry grins.

“Have you?” he asks.

Harry nods. He’s no lothario, but he’s had a boyfriend and a couple of hookups before.

“I would _love_ to fuck you,” Louis breathes out, reaching a hand around Harry to rub his arse.

Harry groans and juts backward into Louis’ hand. “Do it. Please.”

Louis removes his hand and runs his hand through his hair again. “Can we take it a bit slower, though? Next time, maybe?”

Harry nods, pulling his own hand back as well.

“I _promise_ you, though…” Louis’ voice drops to a whisper. “Gonna make you come tonight.”

Harry covers his face in his hands, writhing on the bed. “Okay.”

Louis laughs again at the nonchalance and yet utter frustration of Harry’s answer.

Harry grins widely, dropping his hands from his face.

Louis laughs some more. “What?”

“Your laugh,” Harry mutters.

“What about my laugh?”

Harry moves forward again as Louis continues to unbutton his shirt. “’S like sunlight, Louis.”

And Harry resolves to give into the sunlight.

Louis looks pleased at Harry’s comment and flips him over, his shirt flapping loose. Harry runs his hand over Louis’ abs, moaning to himself. Louis wriggles out of his shirt, laughing some more. He throws it on the floor and leans back down to Harry, his teeth grazing his ear.

“Louis…”

“What?” he breathes into Harry’s ear.

“Take my trousers off…please…” he whispers, his request coming out a lot more strangled and a lot less seductive than he’d hoped.

Louis smirks and sits back up. “If you insist.” He unzips Harry’s trousers and pushes them down, Harry sitting up to get his shirt. He lifts his arms as he throws the blue piece down to the floor as well and Louis stops from the task he is very much engrossed in to grab Harry’s left arm. “You’re inked.”

Harry smiles, holding his arm out for Louis, who’s tracing his fingers over the five-point black outline of a star. “Is it new?”

“No. Got it done in February after I turned eighteen.” He smiles. Louis keeps touching the darkened part of his skin, and although the mark is long healed, it feels different. It feels good. “I want more.”

Louis runs his hand over the rest of Harry’s arm. He suddenly wishes that he was a lot more toned than he is. “They suit you.”

“Thanks. Now…” He looks down again and starts to kick out of his trousers, balled up at his ankles.

Louis laughs and gives them a final pull as they fall to the ground. “They’re so tight.”

Harry shrugs as Louis’ hands find their way to the waistband of Harry’s pants. “I like them like that.”

“Me too.” Louis’ voice is breathier now as he rolls Harry’s pants down, still looking him in the eye. Harry holds his gaze, barely breathing.

Louis’ hand slips beneath the boxers and finds Harry’s dick. He lets out an audible shudder as Louis slowly pumps it, already wet. Harry throws his head back, moaning loudly. He’s grateful that Zayn left.

Louis laughs softly. “Shhh babe. Hold out a bit.”

Harry isn’t sure if he’ll be able to. He’s eighteen, breaking a dry spell of nearly six months, and he’s only been fantasizing about Louis for the past month. “So hot…” he lets out.

Louis smirks. “Let’s get rid of these.” He lets Harry go to yank his pants off. Harry whimpers at the loss of touch but is happy to be naked. Which, reminds him, Louis is not.

He whimpers and tugs at Louis’ belt loops again, moving his hands to the button.

“Go ahead,” Louis says.

Harry gets his trousers off with much more ease than Louis did Harry’s. His pants come off in one fell swoop, too, leaving Louis bare for Harry to admire. Harry takes both of their cocks in his hand, jerking them off together.

Louis whines so loudly that he buries his face in Harry’s shoulder, biting his skin. Harry doesn’t know if he can last much longer with all of these sensations going everywhere at once. Then Louis shoves him down into the bed, separating their cocks. “Have an idea,” he says.

Now it’s Harry’s turn to whine. “Almost came, Lou.”

“Not yet.” He runs his hand down Harry’s stomach, his abs paling in comparison to Louis’ but still there. He drops his head and licks the head of Harry’s cock.

Okay. This Harry can go with. “Oh, shit.”

Louis sinks his head lower and takes more of Harry into his mouth, moaning against his cock so it vibrates. He starts bobbing, licking from the base to the top and driving Harry absolutely mad.

He’s gripping the pillow with both hands and rutting his head into it, doing his very best not to just ram his hips into Louis’ face. He’s taking nearly all of Harry into his mouth in one go now.

“Fuck, Louis, your tongue…”

“Mmm?” Louis looks up and makes eye contact with him, a spirited glint in his eye. He lifts up. “My tongue?”

“So good,” Harry spits out.

Louis takes Harry again and licks along the base of his dick as he sucks, driving Harry mad. His hips are bucking wildly now, Louis holding them down as he sucks Harry off. His moans are louder than he thought possible.

 _Fuck. Louis.._ He can’t think straight. Fuck that – he can’t think at all. All he can focus on is how his body is moving wildly and on instinct as Louis handles his dick with an incredible amount of skill, especially considering how long he’s been out of practice.

Louis lifts his head up, spittle dripping from his lips onto Harry’s cock. He brings a hand up and starts jerking him off again. Harry could stay like this forever. He moans. “Louis, fuck.”

“ _You’re_ so good, baby. Your cock, perfect and thick just for my mouth.”

“ _Yes_.”

And Louis speeds up, tracing the inside of Harry’s thighs with one hand as he twists and pumps with the other, and then he has his mouth back on Harry’s tip, and then Harry lets out one final groan as he comes. Louis takes Harry quickly in his mouth again, swallowing it all.

He sinks back into the pillow, letting his arms flop out as he exhales loudly. “Fuck, Louis.”

Louis sits up a little straighter and stretches his hand out. “You are so hot, Harry Styles.” He wipes what’s left on his mouth with his other hand.

“Fuck, Louis,” he repeats.

“So it was good?” Louis laughs.

Harry sits up, finally regaining some semblance of control over his body. “Why the hell are you even thinking twice about that?” He leans in to Louis’ ear and wipes a trace of white from his chin. “You fucking rocked my world.”

Louis groans at that, letting his hand find his own dick now. Harry brushes it aside and pumps it quickly himself. “Your fucking mouth, so hot, so dirty,” he keeps whispering in Louis’ ear.

Louis just lets out staccato little moans, squeezing Harry’s hips with his hands. “’M so close, Hazza,” Louis breathes out, using the forbidden nickname from the night in the bar. “Your cock in my mouth, has me so close.”

Harry breathes heavily to match Louis. “Say my name again,” he whispers as he brings his hand up and down Louis’ long, hard cock.

“Hazza,” Louis breathes.

“I like that.”

“I know.”

Louis’ breath continues to hitch until it’s nearly a quick burst of hiccups and no moans are able to escape. He comes all over Harry’s hand, nearly unable to slow his breath down. He throws his head back and finally lets out a loud, deep moan. “You’re so good,” he lets out.

Harry leans over the bed and grabs a tissue to clean up with, but not before catching Louis’ eye and licking off what’s on his hand slowly. “That’s so hot, Harry,” he whispers.

Harry smirks as he cleans the rest up.

Louis gets up to use the toilet and Harry stretches out in bed, fully satisfied and still in disbelief at how good that was. Louis is amazing. Harry feels more content than he has in a long time.

Louis comes back in and gets back on the bed with Harry, letting his head fall onto the younger boy’s chest. “You can stay,” he murmurs, tracing the star again.

“Liam told me I’m forbidden from coming back tonight, anyway,” he lets out.

Louis snorts – attractively so – and looks up at Harry. “He has someone over?”

“Nah.” Harry shakes his head. “Tryin’ to do me a favor I think.”

Louis smiles. “Well stay here. Unless you have an early lecture or something.”

“’M fine there.”

“Then I’m fine here.” Louis sits up and leans over Harry to grab his phone from his trouser pockets on the ground. He sends a text message, presumably to Zayn, while Harry notices the small television across from them. It’s only just past ten o’clock.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Louis looks up from his phone. “I’d love that. Hold on, we have some DVDs in the living room. I’ll be right back.” Louis gets up again, grabbing his pants and slipping them on in the process.

Harry slips his own pants on, reluctant to do so, but he doesn’t know what kind of boundaries Zayn and Louis have and would hate to have Zayn walk in on him in the nude. They’re not _that_ close yet. 

He hears the door open and a quiet whoop come from Zayn as he sees Louis. Also something that he can barely make out but sounds like “You got the D!”

 _Christ_. Was he just in the hallway the whole time?

Louis comes back in with a basket in his hands and a grin on his face. “What’re you up for?”

“Um…” Harry peers into the basket and sees one of his favorites. “Don’t judge me,” he says, picking _The Notebook_ and taking it out. “Please?”

Harry can tell that Louis’ holding back an eye roll. “That’s Zayn’s.” He reaches for it.

“Please?” Harry holds the movie further back and out of reach.

Louis looks from the movie cover to Harry. “Fine. But it’s only because you have puppy dog eyes and give killer orgasms.” He drops the basket on the floor amongst their clothes, snatching the DVD from Harry and popping it into the player.

“Quite the combination,” Harry remarks.

“Mmhmm.” Louis crawls back into bed with Harry and opens the covers up. “Get in.”

Harry gladly obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also my tumblr is makesmewannatsss.tumblr.com, in case anyone wants to find me over there.


	7. Wouldn't It Be Nice If We Could Wake Up

From a distant place, Harry comes to. He senses the sun’s rays hitting him from across the room, hears a mild clatter outside of the room, and feels something warm pressed up against him. He blinks once, twice, and then opens his eyes fully. It’s probably mid-morning, and the sunlight is scattered across the bed he’s in through the blinds. He lifts his head a bit to gain some bearing on where he is and smiles as he remembers that the “something warm” next to him is Louis. The other man has both of his arms pressed on Harry’s left with a leg flung over him as well. He lets his head fall back onto the pillow, sighing softly. The events of last night come back to him slowly, trailing all the way up to when they popped _The Notebook_ in – which Louis made a sarcastic comment toward every ten minutes until he nearly started crying – and then how they lazily snogged until one or both fell asleep. Harry doesn’t remember which.

He has class later, though, and Harry needs to figure out exactly how later “later” is. He reluctantly slips out from under Louis and crosses to where his trousers were strewn across the floor last night, picking his phone up. It’s just past seven. Christ, how did he wake up this early? He has nearly two and a half hours. What he also has, however, are over twenty missed calls and texts from Liam and Niall.

_Liam Payne_

_Are you getting it?_

_Niall Horan_

_Can u tell us if ur gettin it_

_Liam Payne_

_If you don’t answer within the next hour I’m going to assume you’re having nasty, filthy sex, but I’d also appreciate confirmation that you’re not dead in a dumpster, so._

_Niall Horan_

_do we need to com beat sum1 up_

And the like. Oops. He’d assumed that when he was banned from returning to the dorm last night it’d be assumed he was staying over unless confirmed otherwise. He shoots a simple _I’ll be back soon xx_ to both Liam and Niall and sets his phone on Louis’ dresser. He pulls at his trousers but really doesn’t want to walk around the flat in dress pants, so he quietly shifts through a few drawers until he finds a pair of joggers that look long enough to cover his legs, opting to put those on instead.

They fit well, but still come up short at the ankles. Harry finds it endearing. He slips out of the bedroom quietly and into the toilet. He’s incredibly thirsty, though, so he hurries up and goes into the kitchen.

Zayn is there, already dressed and making himself an omelet. He looks up and sees Harry, who’s standing sheepishly in the entryway. “Morning, Harry.” He flips the eggs. “If you’re hungry there’s stuff in the refrigerator, yoghurt, eggs, or cereal in the cupboard over there. Toast too, somewhere.”

“Uh, just water, thanks. Where can I find your cups?” Harry steps in tentatively. He should’ve known that Zayn would be up and moving around, thanks to the clatter that woke him up.

Zayn points at a cupboard behind him. Harry grabs a glass and steps over to the sink next to Zayn.

Zayn looks him up and down, smirking.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He goes back to his eggs.

Harry looks down, confused, and – well, _fuck_. His shoulders, biceps, and hips are displaying a smattering of purples and blue bruises. He really should have put a shirt on.

“’M not saying anything,” Zayn hums.

Harry rolls his eyes and crosses around the wall to sit on one of the stools by the counter with his glass.

“Sure you don’t want any food?”

Harry shakes his head.

Zayn slides the omelet from the pan to a blue ceramic plate. “I’ll just be here for a bit longer before I have to head out, I’ll be out of your hair again.”

“No, you’re fine,” Harry insists. “I have to get going soon too.”

Zayn lets the pan clatter into the sink as he steers the conversation. “I called Liam last night.”

“Yeah?” Harry looks up. He’s unsure where this is headed.

“I wanted to…I don’t know what I wanted to do. He’s a bit touchy with me, y’know? Have you picked up on that? Does he get physical with you and Niall? I looked for it but couldn’t find it.”

Oh. “Not really, mate. Just you.”

Zayn looks down and picks at his breakfast, still standing at the stove. “I figured. I don’t mind it. I’ve had mates I’m more physical with than others. Louis, for one.”

Harry nods.

“Anyway. I talked to him, because I don’t want to lead him on, or have him think I’m leading him on.”

“What did he say?”

Zayn looks up. “You can talk to him about that, I guess. I just told him he’s a good mate, and I appreciate his friendship a lot, but that I wasn’t sure what his intentions were and that I wanted to let him know mine.”

Harry leans back on the stool, bracing himself with his feet against the counter. “You’re a good person, Zayn.”

Zayn closes his eyes and grips the edges of the stove. “No. After that, I said ‘maybe someday.’”

Harry shrugs. “Well, is it true? If it’s true it’s not bad.”

“I dunno if it’s true, though.” He keeps eating, his fork dangling off of his lips, clearly confused and lost in thought.

“Is it Liam? Or do you not like blokes?”

Zayn puts his plate and fork in the sink, turning to grab orange juice from the refrigerator. “I don’t even know the answer to that right now.” He laughs sarcastically. “Liam’s a great lad. He’ll make someone very happy someday, I can already tell. I just don’t know if that person could be me.”

“I think you did right by him,” Harry offers. He’ll be fine.

“Make sure of it, okay?”

“Promise.” Harry leans across the counter to grab the jug of juice Zayn set aside.

Zayn continues to talk as Harry pours. “I still want to be mates with him, y’know. Let him know I’m not trying to shut him out or anything.”

Harry nods as he gulps the juice down. At the same time, Louis comes tumbling out of the bedroom, his hair a mess. He’s only in a pair of joggers, too, and his collarbone is as marked up as Harry’s arm is.

Harry can’t help but grin widely. Zayn ducks back into the fridge with the juice, trying unsuccessfully to hide his laughter. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” he calls from within.

“Come off it,” Louis grumbles, walking over to the counter and sitting next to Harry. He loops an arm around Harry’s waist, smiling despite his tone.

“Not a morning person?” Harry tilts his head and teases.

Louis grumbles again, still smiling, and lets his head hit the counter. “Not before noon.”

Harry laughs, feeling Louis’ fingers grip his waist softly. He settles into the small embrace.

“I’m out. Wish me luck on this exam, Lou,” Zayn crosses into the living room, grabbing his messenger bag, and taps Louis on the arse before heading to put his shoes on.

“Luck,” Louis says, still hiding from the light, his face in his arms.

“Good luck, Zayn,” Harry calls.

“Thanks, lovebirds,” is Zayn’s farewell as he shuts the door.

Louis snickers, sitting up straight and looking at Harry. “Did he give you a hard time?”

“Nah.” He rubs his head against Louis’ shoulder, deciding to wait until he talks to Liam to tell Louis what happened.

“Are you a cat or something?” Louis looks down at Harry, grinning incredulously.

Harry pulls back again and swats Louis on the arm. “Meow.”

Louis sighs, standing up and going to the kitchen. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Do you want something to eat?”

“Not really.”

Louis gets out a box of corn flakes and milk. “You sure?”

Harry nods. He’s not really that hungry, but he figures those might be the butterflies that lit up in his stomach ever since he realized he woke up in bed next to Louis. He’s grinning like a baby, he’s so happy. And Louis just told him that he’s cute.

Harry disgusts himself.

“When do you have class?” Louis crosses into the living room and sits on the couch, beckoning Harry over.

“Nine thirty.” Harry sits down and kicks his feet up on the coffee table next to Louis’. “But I should go soon. I had like twenty texts from the lads. They think I’m dead.

Louis curls his feet up and leans his head back. “Thank you for staying.”

Harry snorts at the formality. “Thank you for having me.”

“No, I’m serious. The last time I woke up next to someone other than a mate I was eighteen and in my girlfriend’s home. I broke up with her later that day and told her I thought I probably liked blokes, hoping that would lessen the blow. She threw a shoe at me.”

Harry makes eye contact, leaning his head against the couch as well. “I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t come out to anyone else until I got here. But I’m good now.” He smiles and pats Harry’s knee.

“If it helps, the last person I woke up to was my ex, the morning after graduation. Neither of us remembered going to bed with each other but we were both pissed off. It made for an awful day.”

Louis winces. “Harsh.”

“Very.” He leans in and pecks Louis on the side of his mouth. “I hate to leave you alone now, but I do have to get back. Convince Liam I’m alive, shower, find a shirt to cover – this,” he points out his arm and Louis laughs wildly, squeezing it.

“You’re welcome, Hazza.”

Harry smirks in response and goes back into the bedroom. As he gathers his things Louis throws a shirt at him. “Take this,” he offers.

Harry pulls it on and chuckles at how it’s shorter and snugger on him than most of his shirts. Still, it fits.

“You can hold on to those, too, if you want.” Louis indicates the joggers.

“Thanks.” Harry balls up his clothes from last night and slaps Louis on the arse – with decidedly more force and more of a squeeze than Zayn did, he might add – as he leaves to the entryway to pull his coat and shoes on. He tucks the trousers and button-up into his jacket and laughs as he pulls the joggers a little lower on his hips so they don’t look quite so outrageous with his boots.

“Byyee, Haaarryy,” Louis drawls, and then pulls him in for a kiss as Harry puts his hand on the doorknob.

“Mmmm,” Harry breathes. He really doesn’t want to go. And he doesn’t need to shower, and he could wear yesterday’s outfit to class, but he knows that he really should go see Liam after what Zayn told him.

He pulls away, leaving Louis whimpering.

Harry puts his hand to his ear, miming a telephone and mouthing _Call me!_ “Or text,” he says out loud. “Anything.”

Louis just grins wildly some more.

By the time Harry gets back to his room he still hasn’t gotten a text from Liam – although he did receive a _u bettr tell me wat happend_ from Niall – and he’s worried.

He opens the door carefully and peers in, finding Liam splayed out on his bed and playing with the football he was throwing around yesterday.

“Morning,” Harry greets as he throws his clothes in his hamper and strips his jacket and shoes.

Liam turns to look at him. His face looks okay, and at least he’s awake. He looks alright to Harry. Liam grins and waggles his eyebrows.

“Oh, shove off.” Harry tosses a throw pillow at him, which he dodges.

“Hey!” Liam looks him up and down, smirking. “I take it someone had a good night.”

Harry falls onto his bed. “Yeah,” he breathes.

Liam scoffs. “Harry Styles, I am disgusted. You look smitten. I will let it pass, though, if you give me the run-down.”

Harry smiles. Liam’s great, he really is. He was rejected over the phone last night and still, Harry wouldn’t know if he hadn’t been told. So Harry regales him with a recount of his date last night, still grinning like a fool throughout.

“Did you fuck him?” Liam asks after Harry ends with their going upstairs. Harry left the part out about running into Zayn now that he knows who he was talking to.

“Well, not all the way. But yeah.”

“Lucky bastard,” Liam lets out.

Harry throws another pillow at him.

“At least you got some. I had a kind of bum night.”

Harry lies down again. “I heard.”

And Liam sits up. “You saw Zayn?”

“Talked to him this morning. He, uh, didn’t tell me that much. But he told me to tell you that he wants to make sure you don’t think he’s trying to push you away or anything. He wants to be mates still, and I could tell he meant it.” Harry gets up and sits on Liam’s bed.

Liam nods. “Yeah. He told me. I want that too. I just –”

Harry puts a hand on his shoulder. “What?”

“I had a rough time coming into my sexuality. Because I realized that I like blokes, girls too, but mostly blokes, right near the end of X Factor. Nothing to do with me being on the show, it just happened to work out like that, of course. And I’ve told you I had problems with my management team.”

“Liam. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head and squeezes the ball between his hands. “Yeah, well they made me sign all this shit and I told them I was bi and they basically said, ‘Right, so just pick a girl and no one will have any problems.’”

Harry’s stomach churns. “That’s disgusting.”

“It was. One time I told them I was seeing someone, which I was, we were like two dates in, and that I’d rather do a certain interview on a different night. I’d have been okay with giving in if they told me we couldn’t reschedule, I was just asking. But no. They insisted on knowing who, because they do have that right, legally, and it got bad.” He closes his eyes as his shoulders heave up and down.

Harry wraps his arm tighter around Liam’s shoulder.

“This isn’t about Zayn, of course. He can say no. I’m okay with that, and I’m okay with being friends with him for now. He did say ‘maybe someday.’ I think he’s maybe unsure of what he wants in a relationship, and who.”

“Yeah, I got that too.”

“Okay. I’m just sulking, now, in my own corner, because after that incident it’s hard for me to put myself out there. Not to mention I was just a fucking awkward kid throughout my childhood, too. So there’s that.” Liam opens his eyes and lets his head rest on Harry’s shoulder.

“Do you need anything?”

“Nah. Don’t baby me. Appreciate it, though.”

Harry gets up and goes to change. “Let me know.”

Liam squints at him. “Are those yours?”

Harry bites his lip. And – _ouch_. It’s bruised a little. “No.”

“Amazing.” He shakes his head and lies down again.

*

As demanded, Harry drops by Niall’s flat later in the afternoon. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder as he waits for someone to come to the door – he hasn’t seen Jeff since he called him out for being seen with Louis. Niall opens the door quickly enough, though, and Harry darts in.

“It’s been –” Niall makes a show of checking his watch, continuing, “Been like twenty hours since you left, are you just getting back now?”

Harry makes himself at home, falling into Niall’s new mushroom chair that’s pressed up against the window. Niall plops onto his bed, arms crossed and demanding an answer.

“You know I had class, mate.”

“Well…”

Harry’s mouth twists into a smile. “Went very nicely, though.”

Niall snorts. “‘Very nicely,’” he mocks. He leans over the foot of the bed and peers at Harry for a moment before yanking his sleeve up. “Aha!”

“Get off it!” Harry shouts in protest, falling out of the chair in the process. Niall just cackles as Harry regains his balance and sits back down. “Yes, Niall, very nicely. Now since you asked, I’m going to give you the gory details. Did you know that Louis sucks dick like a pro? Well he does, he absolutely blew my mind, not sorry for the pun, when he…”

Niall screeches and flips back on the bed, smothering his head in his pillow. “Enough! Enough!”

Harry collapses into a fit of giggles as Niall flails on the bed, trying to drown out Harry’s description of the previous night. “You asked, right? All those texts last night, I thought you wanted to know…”

Niall pelts him with the pillow. “I regret doing so.”

Harry juts his chin out, grinning like a menace. Niall leans over and grabs the pillow back. “Did you talk to Liam?”

“Yeah.” Harry kicks his feet up to the right, resting them against the bed. “Came back a little early to see him because I ran into Zayn this morning.”

Niall nods. “I feel bad for him.”

“Me too. He’s, um, had a rough time in the past few years.”

“He told me. Do you think Zayn’s straight?”

“Well, it sounds like he doesn’t know, himself. But yeah, maybe.”

Niall sighs and throws his pillow up so it falls back on his face. “Urgh,” he grunts. “Let’s get pissed tonight. Are you seeing Louis?”

“No.” Harry throws his head back, getting a glimpse of the afternoon sun shining through the shade. “Um, that’s too clingy, I think. Also he has a game somewhere tomorrow so he has practice late.”

“Okay, let’s have a proper lads’ night out, then, just you, me, and Liam. You can help us pull.”

Harry snorts. “I’ll do my best. No promises.”

They manage to drag Liam out of his room after a few hours of coaxing and convincing. Harry digs around their closets and is quite proud of the outfit he throws together for Liam, naming it the Rebound Suit. It’s really just a pair of black skinnies and a scoop-neck tee of the same color. “Black’s the way to go, mate,” Harry insists. “Keeps the attention on your pretty face.” Niall laughs and Liam rolls his eyes but he puts the outfit on anyway.

By ten o’clock the three of them arrive at the pub Harry and Niall discovered on the first weekend. “This’ll be fun!” Niall announces as he pushes Liam in through the door. “Harry is our wingman. Harry, keep your eyes peeled. Unless you’re looking, too.”

“Nah.” Harry smooths his blue, tie-dyed t-shirt out. “’M good. I’ll go get the drinks.” He and Louis aren’t anything official, not yet, and he’ll probably find someone or another to dance with tonight if Niall and Liam are unavailable, but he doesn’t feel much of an interest or need to seek anyone out, or respond to any advances. Not with the taste of Louis still in his mouth.

He squeezes through the crowd, pints in hand, searching out his friends when his phone buzzes. He shoves one into Niall’s hands and another into Liam’s, afraid that he’ll end up dropping the third. He takes a sip and pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolling with one hand.

_Louis the Tommo_

_What are you dong tonight?_

Harry almost snorts beer out of his nose at the typing mistake. Also, he’s glad to see that Louis’ texting as he’d asked. His phone buzzes again seconds later.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Fuck. *doing. But the other works too._

“Be right back!” Harry calls over his shoulder and makes his way back to the bar to put his drink down. Liam’s already made himself at home on the dance floor, though, and Niall’s right behind him.

He types out a quick _Pubs. Lads’ night out. Aren’t you in practice?_ after he sets the mug down.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Just got done. Liam good?_

Harry looks up, hoping nobody’s eyes are on him as he leans against the bar, texting alone. He probably looks like he’s being stood up. He doesn’t care. _Yeah, dancing._

Harry waves the bartender down and orders a strawberry margarita. She gives him a look but he just stares right back with an innocent expression on his face. She turns to make the drink and his phone buzzes again. He reaches for it and reads.

_Louis the Tommo_

_And you?_

The bartender slides the margarita toward him and he looks up, thanking her. He snaps a picture of the drink for Louis before he takes a sip. Harry sighs into the wide glass, happy for some alcohol that he can finally enjoy the taste of for once.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Fuck you._

Harry snorts again and sets the glass down. _Okay._

_Louis the Tommo_

_Quit playing !!! Thought you were sending me a pic of something else._

Harry smirks. He looks around, making sure no one is watching him or reading over his shoulder or anything. Tonight could be fun. _Maybe we can work that out later. Tell me what you’re doing now._

Harry sips his drink innocently, waiting for an answer. It comes soon enough.

_Louis the Tommo_

_In bed._

Harry audibly sighs. _And…?_

He whips around as he feels someone put their hand on his shoulder. It’s Niall, already buzzed and hyper. “Why’re you sittin’ here?!” he slurs. “Come’n dance with us!”

Harry sighs again. He slips his phone into his pocket for now. “Has Liam found anyone?”

Niall shrugs. “He’s grinding up on some girl now. Enjoying it. Come dance with me.”

“Yeah, okay.” His phone buzzes. “Wait, hold on a minute Niall.” Harry twists around to grab his phone and Niall cocks an eyebrow.

“Is that Louis?”

“No,” Harry lies.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Thinking of your dick in my mouth._

Well. Louis was never one for subtlety. Harry shudders and looks up at Niall, gesturing for him to hold on.

As Harry starts typing, Niall screeches out, “It is Louis! Why did you shake like that? You’re sexting Louis!”

“Shhh Niall!” Harry lets out as he types. _How convenient. Remember when I came down your throat?_

Niall shoots him a look as if he has telepathic powers to read exactly what Harry’s writing. “You sicken me. Dance floor. Now!”

Harry playfully flips Niall the bird and tucks his phone away again, letting his friend drag him to the middle of the room. Louis can wait for a bit – maybe it’s better that way.

After a while – and a few different dance partners – Harry signals to Niall that he’s going back up to get another drink. Niall, unfortunately, follows. “Beer?” he asks as they reach the bar.

Harry makes a face as the bartender snickers. “Let me get you lads some shots,” she says, winking. Harry flashes her a smile and pulls out his phone. Four text messages are waiting for him.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Wanna do it again. Wanna suck you off, rub your dick all over my face, drink you in._

_Louis the Tommo_

_Tell me what you want._

_Louis the Tommo_

_Harry…_

_Louis the Tommo_

Harry lets a mixture between a laugh and a groan escape as his head hits the bar. The bartender raises an eyebrow and turns to Niall. “He okay? Should I give him this?” she slides a shot of God-knows-what to both of them anyway. “Don’t worry about it, by the way,” she adds with a wink in Niall’s direction.

He grins. “He’s okay. Thanks, beautiful.”

Harry turns his head just enough to shoot a weird look Niall’s way, as if to say _“The bartender? Really?”_

Niall shrugs. “Hell yeah, mate,” he mutters under his breath. “Bottoms up!”

Harry raises the glass and drinks. It burns but it isn’t disgusting.

He goes back to his phone. _LOUIS._ He teases.

“Since you’re occupied,” Niall announces, “I’m going to go see if I can talk to her some more.”

“You do that,” Harry replies as Niall gets up.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Are you getting dragged away or something? Stayyy_

Harry smiles. Louis is sexy _and_ sweet. He gets up and leaves the crowd to go sit by the door, waiting for Liam and Niall whenever they’re ready. He’s had a solid amount of drinks, danced a little, it’s been a night out – and now he wants to text Louis.

And he does, for the next few hours. Eventually he stands up to stretch – okay, more like rearrange his jeans – and catches Niall’s eye. He’s still at the bar, still trying to pull the bartender. Harry gets up to look for Liam but doesn’t have to go far.

“Sorry mate!” Liam slurs as he smashes into Harry, a girl hanging on behind him. “This is…”

“Lily,” she prods, giggling.

“Yeah, Lily, listen Harry, I’ll see you tomorrow. Going to her place.”

“Be safe!” Harry calls after Liam as he leaves the establishment. He’s about to up and leave Niall here now that Liam’s taken care of. Harry really needs to get back to his room and have a good wank. He wants to ask to see Louis, actually, but knows he has an early travel call tomorrow. And again, he doesn’t want to look clingy. He just can’t get him out of his mind.

“Niallllllll!” Harry calls from across the room. He gets his attention and Niall excuses himself from the bar to meet Harry.

“What, Harry? Gonna get laid. She’s so hot.”

Harry can’t help but laugh a little. He’s far more sober than Niall is. He slings his arm around Niall’s shoulder. “Ask for her number, Niall.”

Niall blinks. “But I wanna take her back. Get her number later, maybe.”

“She’s still working and as sober as you are pissed. If she’s a good person she _won’t_ fuck you tonight. Liam left, I wanna go too. You can come with me, you probably should, go ask for her number then c’mon.”

Niall whines and pouts. “But I _want_ her to, so it’s okay.”

Harry snickers. “She has a job, Niall, and there’s probably some stipulation that she can’t go home with overly intoxicated patrons. Get to it.” He shoos him back toward the bar and steps closer to the door.

Niall comes back not two minutes later, grinning. “Got a number,” he declares in a sing-songy voice.

“Good. Now let’s go, I’ll get a cab.”

*

By the time Sunday morning rolls around Harry is absolutely _dying_ to see Louis again. He tells Liam as much while they’re both still lazing about in bed and only gets snark in response.

“You’re not gonna _die_ , Harry.” The night out seems to have cheered Liam up a bit. He’s still clearly focused on Zayn although he has been texting the girl from Friday.

Harry groans and tries to fall back to sleep. He was woken up at the ripe hour of ten in the morning after Liam got back from his boxing class. He passes half an hour tossing and turning, debating whether Louis was serious about not being able to function before noon. If he could just text him then  he might get to see him today.

Louis beats him to it, though. Harry flips across his bed when he hears his phone buzz.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Any big plans for this fine Sunday? Fancy coming by the House of Tommalik for brunch?_

Harry shoots up, grinning. _When?_ He wonders if that’s too eager. It’s probably too eager. He sends it anyway.

_Louis the Tommo_

_When can you get here?_ _J_

The answer, Harry finds out, is twenty minutes. He’s knocking on the door of Louis’ flat (he’d been worried he wouldn’t be able to find it considering the state he was in on Thursday, but it came back quickly), fully dressed and quite proud of himself for the speed at which he made it down there. He’s in a pair of black skinnies and a white t-shirt that he likes to think both hugs and hangs off of his chest at the same time.

Louis answers in another of his striped shirts – red and white this time – and sporting a pair of red skinnies. His hair is sticking up every which way and his hands are covered in flour. Harry laughs out loud at the sight. “Good morning?”

Louis sighs exaggeratedly and steps aside to let Harry in. “I had an idea. Two, actually. I was going to make pancakes and invite you over but, as you can see –” he gestures inside the kitchen and Harry peers around the kitchen, and – oh, it’s a mess. Harry looks at Louis to continue.

“Well, it didn’t go so fine! So my second idea is that you show me how to make pancakes since you’re the baker and all.”

Harry follows Louis into the kitchen and, well – he has a lot of work to do. He informs Louis of this and is whacked on the back of the head with a dishtowel.

“Unsanitary,” Harry points out.

“See, already teaching me things.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at the potential innuendo. Louis whacks him again. “Let’s get started. Zayn here?” he asks as he hands Louis a wet paper towel to mop the kitchen counter with and grabs his own.

“Yes, he is actually.” Louis hastily wipes most of the counter off and darts out of the kitchen. Harry leans forward and follows him with his eyes.

Louis pokes his head into the only room Harry hasn’t been in yet and hollers, “Malik! Good morning, I have a guest over, if I could ask a favor, thank you, love you.”

Zayn grunts.

Louis returns. “Taken care of.”

Harry can’t help but laugh at Louis’ attitude. “You don’t have to make him _leave_. Don’t wanna make him mad.”

“Harry,” Louis starts as Harry passes him a bowl of dry mix and a whisk. “Zayn does not mind. Last night he literally told me to invite you over this morning, so there.” He sticks his tongue out at Harry cheekily and without thinking twice Harry covers it with his mouth.

He pulls away grinning and leaving a stunned Louis in his wake. “What?”

Louis looks down at the bowl. “How do you whisk?”

Harry rolls his eyes and takes the bowl back. “Like this.” He demonstrates.

Louis watches suspiciously, as if he half expects Harry to whip out a wand and perform black magic on the mixture. “Dunno if I can do that without getting it everywhere again.”

“Then grease the pan,” Harry suggests.

“Wait, what?”

Harry looks at him through the bits of curly fringe that have fallen into his eyes. “Have you never been in the kitchen before, Louis?”

Louis just huffs and leans against the oven. “I can stand here and look pretty if you’d like, instead.”

Harry grins, looking down at the mix to hide his creeping blush. He’d really like to kiss Louis again. “You do that anyway.”

And in that moment, Zayn comes into the kitchen with an air of petulance. “Making me food, Styles?” he asks.

Harry looks up. “Think there’s only enough for two, mate.”

Zayn grabs a protein shake from the fridge and thumps Harry on the back, now smiling. “I kid, I kid. Finally, we have someone who can work an oven, though.” He waves goodbye as he leaves, dressed in running gear.

Harry turns back to Louis and shows him the mixed bowl. “ _That’s_ how you whisk.”

Louis nods curtly. “Now what?”

“Now you mix the wet stuff.”

Louis coughs loudly.

“You know, eggs, milk, oil…”

“Yeah, that’s over there.” Louis gestures to the other side of the counter. “How was your Friday night?”

Harry’s cheeks start to redden again. “Well, you were basically there…” he murmurs. And after they’d stopped texting and Louis had gone to sleep, Harry had reread their conversation over and over again, taking full advantage of the empty bedroom. But Louis doesn’t need to know that. Yet, at least.

“Mmhmm.” Louis smirks and continues to watch Harry.

“Liam got laid. Niall didn’t, much to his chagrin, but got a phone number, so.”

“Good for Liam.”

“Yeah, he seems a little better. Hey, do you have any cookie cutters or anything?”

Louis’ forehead creases. “We’re not making cookies, Harry.”

“Yeah, but,” he gestures to the pancake batter and continues, “we can make them into shapes. Did that when I was a kid.”

Louis laughs. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we do. But.” He stoops and digs around in a cupboard before pulling out a bag of chocolate chips. “We can give them smiley faces.”

“Perfect.” Harry grins. “Now get me a ladle, please.”

Louis drops the chocolate on the counter. “What’s a ladle?”

Harry groans. “You’re incurable. You know, what you pour soup with, do you have one of those?”

“Oh. Yep, here.” He tries to pass the ladle to Harry but Harry only passes him the bowl.

“Nope, you can do this part. I’ll put the chocolate in.”

Louis huffs. “You spend all this time making the batter just to trust me with this?”

Harry rolls his eyes and reaches across Louis for the chocolate. “I’ll flip them, don’t worry.”

Louis does quite well at pouring the pancakes – only a few turn out like lopsided ovals. Harry stands behind him, dropping the chocolate chips in various arrangements. Soon the batter is gone and they have happy faces, stars, and hearts.

“Lemme do one.” Louis snatches the bag from Harry and claims the last bare pancake, busying himself in front of the griddle.

“Louis.” Harry stares at the shape dotting the inside of the nearly-cooked batter. “Louis, that’s a dick.”

“Mmhmm.” Louis grins as he starts piling dishes in the sink.

“You’re defacing my artwork with a dick,” Harry teases playfully.

“Oh, no, Curly, I am not defacing it. I am _raising_ it up to new heights.”

Harry groans and flips the pancake. “For shame.”

Louis hums up and down the scale as he passes a set of plates to Harry. “Syrup?”

“Yes please. Why don’t you sing on Mondays? I think you’d be good.” Harry flips the pancakes onto the plates.

Louis bites his lip. “Dunno. Doesn’t occur to me. Like I said, I’m not much of a soloist.”

“You should do it. You have the personality. Where are the utensils?”

“Over there. Wouldn’t that be weird, though, football captain belting out a tune?”

Harry passes Louis a plate and takes his own, walking out of the kitchen. “Are you nervous? Never thought I’d hear that.”

Louis nods him over to the couch, bottle of syrup in hand. They both sit down, propping their feet up on the coffee table. “Maybe I’ll do it sometime. Find me a good song and I will.”

“It’s a deal, then.” Harry looks down at his hands. “We are a mess.”

Louis laughs lightly and snuggles up to Harry. “Can fix that later.” He takes a bite. “You’re a good baker, Hazza.”

“I know.”

Louis punches him lightly. “And a braggy little shit.”

Harry just grins.

They eat in silence for a while until Louis shifts away from Harry. He sticks his fork up and looks through it. He seems deep in thought and Harry likes the way his face looks like that. He doesn’t bother him.

Louis sets his empty plate and fork aside, turning to Harry now. Harry sets his plate aside, too. Louis blinks. Harry blinks back, trying not to crack a smile. Okay, he’s failing, he’s absolutely smiling. Louis’ lips are pursed and he runs a hand through his hair, letting it fall to his lap after.

They hold each other’s gaze for a bit longer. The air between them is a mix of sexual tension and happy silence. Then Louis breaks and lets his face fall into the back of the couch as he laughs. He sits back up as Harry’s trying to retain his composure.

“I like you, Harry.” He’s letting his arm hang over the couch and the other poke at his own thigh. He looks more content than Harry’s seen him yet.

“I like you, Louis.”

Louis smiles and exhales lightly.

Harry can’t help but tease. “Technically this is only our second date, you know.”

Louis sits up straighter. “Well you fucked me on the first.”

“Fair enough. Can I go to your next football game?”

Louis feigns scandal. “Whatever will I tell my teammates? That my boyfriend is that idiot cheering in the stands like a proper WAG?” He doesn’t miss a beat.

Harry’s breath hitches and he blushes for the fiftieth time this morning. “Yeah, you could do that.” His voice drops.

“Okay, _boyfriend_.”

Harry can’t resist any longer. He tackles Louis, pinning him against the couch. He locks their fingers together. “Can we fuck now?” he whines against Louis’ neck onto the bruises that haven’t yet had time to disappear.

“Wow, Harry, you should work on being a little clearer. I haven’t a clue what you’re asking.” He arches his neck up to allow Harry better access.

Harry licks and sucks and bites until Louis starts whimpering underneath him. He pushes up so he’s straddling him, keeping eye contact as he digs the heel of his palm into Louis’ crotch.

Louis lets out a groan insanely loud, given that they’ve only been at each other for five minutes at most. “Fuck.”

“What was that? You should work on being a little clearer,” Harry teases.

“Stoooppp. C’mon.”

Harry rolls off of the couch, pushing the coffee table away from them in the process.

Louis sits up, looking at Harry incredulously. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Harry scoots back to the couch and kneels at the end. “Gonna blow you.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay.” Louis starts to undo his jeans but Harry swats his hands away. “Get your shirt,” he lets out, far lower in his register than he intended.

Louis nods, whipping his shirt off with a bit of difficulty while Harry unzips his jeans. Louis helps as he wriggles out of them, accidentally kicking Harry in the face while doing so.

Harry falls back onto his arse, grabbing his eye.

“Fuck!” Louis comes off of the couch as well, jeans still around his knees. “Fuck, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Harry’s laughing. “Yes, I’m fine.” He yanks at the ankles of Louis’ trousers and gets them off with a final pull. He climbs over Louis’, now laid down on the carpet, and kisses him. “Just make it up to me later.”

“Mmhmm.” Louis closes his eyes and threads his hands through Harry’s hair, tugging a little.

Harry lets out a strangled moan. “Wait on that.” He moves his way back down Louis’ body and slowly pulls his pants off. Louis’ cock is lying against his stomach, half-hard. He takes it and pumps slowly, then quickly as Louis starts to react. Harry feels his toes curl against his legs and his hands try to grip the carpet. “Harry,” he breathes.

“Came thinking of you on Friday, you know. Came just like this.” Harry jerks faster, letting his hair fall into his face as he furrows his face in concentration.

“Me too,” Louis breathes. “Thinking of you, not me, ‘course. Thinking of you getting hard in the pub, not being able to touch yourself with everyone surrounding you.”

Harry shudders and leans back, making Louis whimper. “Can you get back on the couch?”

Louis nods, getting up. Harry gets an utterly fantastic view of Louis’ arse as he goes over and is quite sure he’s fully hard himself from that alone.

Harry scoots over to Louis and kneels again, moving to take his cock back in his hands.

“Wait.” Louis crosses his arms.

Harry pouts. “What?”

“Why am I the only one naked?”

Harry jumps to his feet. “Fine. Have it your way.” He pulls his shirt off and lets it fall to the floor, still keeping eye contact with Louis, who’s legs are sprawled out on the couch as he starts to jerk himself off.

Harry continues to strip, wriggling out of his jeans and pants slowly after he takes his shoes off. “Like it?” he asks softly.

Louis just throws his head back and moans. “Get your mouth on my cock.”

Harry chuckles as he falls back to the ground. “You told me to stop.”

“Quit teasing!”

Harry leans over Louis’ crotch, licking the tip of his cock and gripping his thighs tightly. Louis’ hands find their way back into Harry’s hair and pull gently. Harry takes more of Louis in with the tug and lets his hands fall to the side and hold onto the couch.

He rises up on his knees, moaning almost as loud as Louis is. He sucks harder, bringing one hand to the base of Louis cock to jerk him off as he sucks. Louis continues to pull on Harry’s hair as he groans, but not nearly hard enough.

Harry comes up and looks at Louis. His lips feel puffy and his eyes are watering. “Harder, Louis.”

“What’s that?” Louis breathes out, head still thrown back.

“Pull my hair harder. You can, like, yank my head if you want.”

“Fuck, Harry.”

Harry takes that as an invitation. He drops back down and sucks down slowly. Louis spreads his legs wider so his hands have more leverage. Harry can tell his hips are struggling not to thrust. Harry goes deeper, trying to show Louis that he can take it.

Then Louis yanks, and – oh God, Harry goes down all the way and his nose is pressed up against the base of Louis’ dick and he’s moaning against it even though he can barely breathe, and Louis is taking Harry’s head in both of his hands and he’s thrusting, and _fuck_.

Harry opens his mouth wider and grinds against the couch. He realizes that it would be in awful form, especially to Zayn, if he were to come all over the sofa. He drops a hand and starts jerking himself off, angling himself back a little more, as he continues to let Louis fuck his face.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis continues to moan out.

Harry’s near coming already.

“So – shit, not gonna last, want me to – ?”

Harry takes all of Louis again.

Louis pulls him away far enough so he can make eye contact. “Want me to come in your mouth?”

Harry nods as he sucks and swirls the tip of Louis’ cock around in his mouth. He still has a death grip on his own dick as he pumps it.

He moans, keeping eye contact with Louis as he deepthroats him for a final time as Louis lets a cry out, coming and pulling at Harry’s hair tighter than ever.

Harry swallows, pulling away and licking along Louis’ dick as he does so. He rests his forehead against the couch as he shudders and comes into his own hand.

“Fuck, Louis.”

“I know.” Louis breathes deeply, rubbing his own thighs.

“No, _fuck_ , Louis.” Harry struggles to catch his breath. He sits back on his arse and wipes his mouth.

Louis looks down. “You came.” He smirks.

Harry nods, and can’t help but blush again as Louis looks over him sprawled out on the floor, both of their eyes glazed over. “Um. Came on your couch and carpet. Tried not to. I’d say sorry, but it was really good.

Louis leans over to look. He giggles. “We’ll clean it up in a minute.” He pats the cushion beside him. “Get back up here.”

Harry obliges, falling into Louis’ arms and his cuddle.

*

Later, after they wash up and start cleaning the kitchen, Louis will wrap his arms around Harry’s waist and sigh into his back. He’ll tell Harry how he’s completely enamored with this curly-headed, gangly first-year in a way he hasn’t been before. He’ll tell Harry that a few weeks ago he let himself fall hard in a way that he swore he would never. He’ll tell Harry that he thinks he should be scared, of these new feelings and how everything is moving so fast, but that he isn’t, and that’s almost scarier than anything else. He’ll nuzzle his face against Harry’s shoulder and play with the star tattoo again, and he’ll leave a bruise inside of it.

And Harry will dip his head into Louis’ hair and breathe in scents of sweat and sex and flour and shampoo. He will whisper in Louis’ ear right back about how letting yourself go like this is good, and it’s an adventure, and it will be the ride of their lives. And Harry will say that their meeting was not an “Oops!” but a “Hi,” and Louis will look up at him like he wants to whack him with another dishcloth but instead will smile and say “Your jokes aren’t funny, Hazza,” and Harry will smirk and say, “Then why are you grinning like a fool?” And before Louis can answer, Zayn will knock on the door, not because he forgot his keys but because he’s smart, and they’ll have to let him in, and the three of them will spend the afternoon watching stupid reality television shows and, oops, maybe Harry and Louis forgot to wash the couch, but it’s dry now anyway and what Zayn doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

*

_From: Harry Styles_

_Guess who has a boyfriend? :D *he shoots, he scores*_

_From: Niall Horan_

_wtf i just woke up here u go gettin a man_

_From: Niall Horan_

_spose u got laid too_

_From: Niall Horan_

_we r goin out again sumtime nd ur gonna use ur powers on me 4 real this time_

_From: Harry Styles_

_LOL. The fuck, Niall?_

_From: Niall Horan_

_shit. didnt mean it like that man wouldnt wanna make lou jealous he seems lyk hed b rly bad jealous_

_From: Harry Styles_

_Dunno if I can read that. But don’t call him Lou. That’s my job._

_From: Niall Horan_

_disgustin mate. u meant that in a dirty way didnt u_

_From: Niall Horan_

_wait whered u go_

_From: Niall Horan_

_fuck u did mean it in a dirty way_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit hard to get out at certain points but still so much fun. Let me know what you think. :D


	8. In the Morning When the Day Is New

“Harry, now.” Liam is standing impatiently at the door, beckoning Harry over.

“Gimme a minute.” Harry’s trying to get the sweep of his curls just right. They’ve been cooperating all day, but of course just as he’s about to see Louis they decide to splay everywhere.

Liam sighs loudly. “One, you’ll probably just mess them up later tonight, so what’s the point? Two, you’ve been seeing him for how long now? A month? I don’t think a slightly messy head is going to turn him off. Come _on_.”

Harry sighs and smooths his Rolling Stones t-shirt out as he grabs his coat. “Fine, you win.” He shuts the door behind him and rolls his eyes as he follows Liam out the emergency exit door. “Do you know where we’re going? Is it the big auditorium?”

“No, Zayn said it was the smaller one adjacent to it. NIALL!” Liam calls out to the person a few yards ahead of them.

Niall crosses back. He has his guitar strapped to his shoulder. “Ready to do this, lads?”

“It’s still just karaoke,” Harry counters as they walk.

“Let us have FUN, Harry!” Niall lets out. “It’s more performing now. And we finally got a better space.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah. What are you doing?”

“Taking requests from the crowd.” Niall puffs his chests out and both Harry and Liam whack him. He runs ahead, guitar thumping on his back, and they chase him the rest of the way there.

They make their way to the arts building and find the proper auditorium. It’s a decently-sized recital hall, and Harry quickly estimates that it probably holds around two hundred, two hundred and fifty people. “Not gonna fill this up,” he says.

Louis comes around the proscenium with an armful of cords. “ _So_ optimistic, Harry, whatever will we do with you? How long do we have?”

Harry jogs down the aisle and leaps onstage to meet Louis before he checks his watch. “Two hours.” He gives Louis a peck on the mouth and makes to pull away but Louis drops the cords on their feet, grabbing Harry’s head and keeping their mouths together.

“Oi!” Niall pops up beside them, arms crossed. They break apart hastily, Harry blushing, but Louis only smirks.

“Don’t be jealous, Horan.”

Niall makes a face. “Never. What do you need me to do?

Louis looks down at the wires in a mess underneath them. “This is your domain, get the mikes together, mate.”

Niall drops to his knees without hesitation right in front of Louis, starting to untangle the cords.

Harry, simply put, loses his shit. “Niall!” he screeches, having to sit down himself to keep from tumbling over in laughter.

“What?” He looks up and Louis is still in front of him, head in hands. “Is this a gay thing?”

Liam jumps up onto the stage and leans down to help Niall, making a point to get on his arse right away. “No, it’s a dick-sucking thing, mate.”

“Fuck all of you!” Niall yells playfully.

Harry raises his hand and Louis pulls him up, subtly grabbing his arse in the process.

Harry winks. “Give me something to do.”

“Watch it!” Niall blurts out.

Harry peers around Louis’ shoulder and sticks his tongue out.

“Well I was going to ask you to go through the music library and put together a Favorites playlist but the man with the computer is running late.” Louis crosses his arms and looks up at the ceiling as if he were shaking his head at the gods. “Zayn.”

“I’ll text him,” Liam volunteers, leaning back on his heels to grab his phone and send a quick message.

“Thanks,” Louis says, gesturing at Harry to follow him. “For now, help me hang these lights.”

“Lights? Harry is impressed as Louis hands him a ladder to steady.

“Yes. Don’t let me fall.”

“Never.” This angle gives Harry an amazing view of Louis’ arse, if he does say so himself.

“Cute. Pass me that gel, please.”

“Blue or red?”

“Both, actually, I can reach two bulbs from here.”

Harry hands Louis the plastic sheets, barely needing to reach to meet Louis’ hands. “So is this a full-on production now, or…?”

“Precisely. Now that Niall’s brought a guitar we can just form a band and tour the world, eh?”

Harry laughs. “That’d be fun.”

“This is a nice distraction from life, though.” He looks down at Harry and smiles. “Plus it’s good for the CV, we’re right community-builders now.” He winks before slipping the second gel in.

“Angle them together,” Harry suggests. “Then we’ve got a bit of purple. Red and blue are too drab.”

“Let’s try it.” Louis twists a few knobs, adjusting the lights. “Liam, flip the switch, will you?”

Liam does so and the house goes dark, the purple glow cutting through the rest of the white lights.

“Absolutely,” Louis declares with confidence. The lights go back on.

“Orange and green now,” Harry says. “For Halloween this weekend.”

“Knew there was a reason we kept you three around,” Zayn jokes as he comes in through the stage door.

“Maybe we should kick _you_ out,” Louis grumbles as he climbs down the ladder, Harry holding onto his waist. “And to think that _I_ used to be the one with punctuality problems.”

“Yeah, now you’re just rushing for Harry,” Zayn teases as Louis flips him off. “Sorry, sorry. Ran late at the lab.” He drops his bags on a table and starts to set his computer up.

It’s fifteen minutes to eight when Louis is finally satisfied with the lighting set up. Harry thinks it’s quite endearing how insistent he is on getting it perfect. And it really is impressive. A solid amount of students have already arrived and are murmuring amongst themselves, excited as well.

“Tommo, over here.” Niall beckons Louis over to fit him with a wireless lavalier microphone.

“Moving on up!” Louis preens as Niall ties the belt around his waist.

“D’you want one, Zayn?” Niall calls across the theatre at Zayn who’s setting up the lyric screens against the back wall.

“’M good, thanks.”

“No, give him one, I’m not gonna give him the performers’ mike if he needs it,” Louis insists.

Zayn sighs. “Liam, finish this.”

He jogs down the aisle, giving Liam a high-five as they cross paths.

“Harry, tape this to Louis, ‘m gonna set Zayn up.”

“Harry!” Louis calls his name a second time before Harry’s head snaps around. He’s been distracted – he just noticed Jeff and a few other blokes come in the front. _Fantastic_. Harry’s stomach drops. He’s had a few minor run-ins with him throughout the month but all were avoidable by ducking his head down, shoving a beanie on, or whipping his phone out.

If he can just stay away from him until the show starts, he should be fine. Hopefully.

Harry darts up the stage as quickly as he can and slips behind Louis, hoping he’s partially hidden.

“Niall, bring the tape back!” Louis calls.

Harry holds his hand out, refusing to move an inch. Niall grumbles, bringing the surgical tape over to them.

Harry tapes the wires up along Louis’ neck, trying to do so with the least alluring brushes as possible.

Still, Louis giggles and lets a groan or two slip out, just to play with him. “Yeah, like it like that.”

Harry rolls his eyes.

“Am I _bothering_ you?” Louis whispers seductively.

“Yes, actually, if you could just –” he tries to explain when Zayn detaches himself from Niall, calling for Harry.

“Go look at my computer please; I need to see if it’s all connected.” Harry jumps down from the stage again and runs back to the screens.

Harry sighs in relief at having been saved and scurries over to the makeshift sound table set up just below the stage. He swings down and catches Jeff’s eye accidentally as he takes a seat in the front row. Harry swivels around to the computer quickly and starts messing around at the board. “Tell me when it’s right,” he calls out to Zayn.

“Ahem.”

He looks up to see Louis standing above him, arms crossed. Harry flashes him a quick but nervous smile and gets back to the computer.

“What is it?” Louis crouches down.

Harry tries to subtly jerk his head behind him. “Him,” he basically just mouths.

He can hear Jeff behind them, somewhat loudly saying things like “Yeah, in front of us, that’s ‘im.” “Up ‘n left, couldn’t handle a little confrontation,” to his friends – but probably, Harry realizes, mostly to him.

Harry looks up at Louis again and makes a face as if to say, “That’s why.”

Louis tenses and stands up. “Stop your tings, man, at my boy,” he lets out sassily before giving Jeff a once-over that is filled with more detest than Harry’ seen come out of Louis before. He turns around quickly and Harry can tell that he bites his hand as he realizes he’s made a slip.

Harry slumps in his chair, trying to disappear and wishing that he could rewind the past five minutes. He doesn’t hear any more comments from the boys behind him and doesn’t dare turn around to look at their faces. He just wants to vanish.

Louis disappears offstage for a bit while Harry and Zayn work out the last few issues with the sound. The room fills up until it’s at least two-thirds full. It’s quite impressive for their first night, here, actually. Harry would be jumping around excitedly if his mind wasn’t otherwise preoccupied.

It’s five past eight when Louis comes out again, his usual grinning and bouncy self at first sight, but Harry stares for a bit and can tell that he’s on edge. Zayn nudges Harry out of the sound chair and he takes that as his cue to go sit with Niall and Liam who are, thankfully, settled far away from Jeff and his posse.

Harry falls into the seat they left between them and groans into Niall’s arm while Liam pats his knee.

“If it helps,” Niall whispers, “He didn’t really out himself. ‘My boy’ could mean anything, really.”

“Yeah but think about who he was talking to,” Harry mumbles, still buried in Niall’s arm.

“Alright Manchester!” Zayn dims the lights as Louis kicks off the night. “Thank you all so much for joining us, and glad you could find our new location. I guess the literature department got tired of us taking up their conference room every week.” Louis gets a laugh out of some people and grins as he continues. “Tonight, like we told you to last time, please feel free to get up with your friends, bring an instrument,” he indicates Niall, “or do any other quirky twist you want. We have moved _upwards_ and _onwards_ from simple YouTube karaoke, mates. This is a weekly _performance showcase_ we have going on!”

Louis gets significantly more cheers after this portion of his rousing speech. Harry grins, still tucked into Niall.

“And I’d like to thank _my friend_ Harry for the Halloween theme tonight!” He gestures up to the lights and spins around smoothly. Harry detects a tone of discomfort in his voice, though.

Despite the rocky start, the night goes wonderfully. People sing duets, trios get onstage, and Niall and Liam are definitely the highlight when Niall and his guitar accompany Liam’s performance. They’re quite good together.

The two try to get Harry to go on, but he refuses. He’s not about to give Jeff further ammunition on him. He wants to go completely under his radar for the rest of the night, if that’s possible. And for what it’s worth, whenever Jeff tries to jump up, with or without his mates, Louis is quick to pick someone on the other side of the room. Harry can’t help but laugh at that.

Louis gets a ravishing round of applause at the end of the night and it takes all of Harry’s willpower not to stand up and wolf whistle. Louis will have to settle with a pair of intense sex eyes instead – and he definitely notices them.

*

“Okay. Tell me again what the cheers sounded like from the crowd, Harry,” Niall insists over a late night dinner at a nearby pizza parlor.

“They ate you up,” Harry says through a mouthful of cheese pizza. “You guys have good chemistry.” He points at Liam and Niall with his free hand.

Niall grins and slings his arm around Liam’s shoulder. They both make nasty kissy faces at one another with six inches of air in between.

Harry pretends to gag.

“Oh, you.” Liam throws a used napkin at him. “Please, do you _know_ what we three have to deal with? In not even a month’s time I’m quite sure we’ve all seen each of your tonsils.” He points at everyone at the table but Harry and Louis.

Harry lets his head fall on Louis’ shoulder. “Eff off.”

Louis looks aghast. “Who the fuck says ‘eff,’ Harold? Go big or go home, I’m ashamed.”

Harry just closes his eyes and hums. Then he says what’s been on his mind all night. “Are we fucked?” He opens his eyes and looks around the table to faces of confusion.

“Harry, are you trying to dirty talk with me at the dinner table?” Louis says cheekily.

Harry gives Louis’ arm a push. “Noooo not like that.” He drops his voice. “What if Jeff, like, goes around telling people…”

Louis straightens up but shakes his head. “Can’t say for sure. But to be completely honest I don’t think so. I shouldn’t have phrased telling him off like that, but…”

“You’re fine,” Liam offers.

Harry squints his eyes at him. “How do you know?”

“Because that’s what those kinds of people are like. He’s going to try and save it up until he thinks he really needs it, sick bloke that he is, but he’ll never go all the way and drop it anywhere that it will count. And if a time ever comes where he feels truly, personally victimized by either of you it’ll turn out that he doesn’t have nearly enough ammunition for the shit that he wants to cause.”

Harry scrunches his forehead up, trying to comprehend what Liam just said.

“He’s saying your mortal enemy is a chicken, Harry,” Louis states.

“Oh. Okay. If you’re sure.” Harry bites at his pizza crust.

“Listen to Liam, he’s wise,” Zayn says.

Harry can see Liam try to hide a smile at the compliment. He turns to Louis, who looks at him with a raise of the eyebrows and snatches his crust and eats it. “Heyyy…”

Louis grins through the bread. “Yum.”

Niall sighs.

“What’s the matter, Nialler?” Louis asks, still chewing Harry’s food.

“Why didn’t we go somewhere that serves alcohol?” He drops his head into his hands.

“Because we wanted pizza,” Harry counters.

“There must be pizza-serving establishments around here that sell a pint.” Niall drinks his water mock-angrily.

“We wanted _good_ pizza,” Zayn says, leaning against the table to grab the last slice. “Plus it’s late, so beggars can’t be choosers.”

Before Niall can offer another retort, Louis’ phone rings loudly, shouting off some hip hop song that Harry’s never heard.

“Fuck, that’s the coach,” Louis says as he excuses himself from the table to go outside.

“Why is his coach calling him at eleven?” Harry asks Zayn next to him.

Zayn shrugs. “Beats me. Probably summat to do with getting pulled by a team next year or whatever.”

Liam pulls them into an argument of whether they should all unanimously vote that Zayn has to dye his quiff back to its natural color before Harry can think further on the matter.

“I’m just trying to say, is all, is that if you’re going for the broody, inspired, artistic type then you’d be better off with all dark hair!” Liam offers.

“Come off it!” Zayn playfully kicks him under the table. “I’m _expressing_ myself, you knob, and my inspiration requests an admittedly randomly-placed blonde streak on my head.”

Niall shakes his head. “No, you see, you can’t trust people with random blonde streaks,” he insists. He pulls out his phone and types in a Google search.

Harry just laughs and lifts his feet up to rest on Niall’s knees.

“Ow, Harry, fuck you. Okay, Zayn, look.” He flips through several pictures of people whom he deems to be “odd characters” with blonde streaks.

“They look normal to me,” Zayn says, patting his own head protectively.

Harry leans back, digging his heels further into Niall’s thighs.

“Ouch!”

“Zayn, I think that’s the point. They’re telling you that your quiff is basic.” Harry pats him on the shoulder as if to lessen the blow. Zayn pretends to break down into a puddle of tears.

“That’s the word!” Liam shouts. He gets a glare from the owners who look pointedly at the clock on the wall.

Harry leans back further to try and peer out the window. He sees Louis still on the phone, waving his free hand animatedly and…rather angrily, actually. “He looks upset.”

“Sometimes they get into it,” Zayn reassures him. “He’ll be fine.”

Louis comes back in a few minutes later just as they’re getting kicked out by the owners and going out to meet him. His hair is a mess and his coat is zipped halfway as if he’s been playing with it.

“What took you so long?” Harry asks, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

Louis doesn’t respond to the contact, only answering, “Um, coach called.” He tries to grin, at least, as he continues, “There’ll be another scout at the game Wednesday.”

“That’s great!” Liam exclaims.

“Yeah, great,” Harry says, matching Louis’ smile, which starts to falter. “Is that it?” Harry asks.

Louis nods aimlessly. “Yeah, ‘s all. Gonna be good.”

They start walking back toward campus. Harry lets his mouth fall on the level of Louis’ ear. “Can I come back with you?” he pleads.

Louis tenses up. “Not tonight. I, uh, have an essay to write.” He pauses, then puts his arm around Harry’s waist, squeezes quickly, and removes it. “An essay I’ve been putting off because of _you_.”

“Sorry,” Harry drawls sleepily, pulling away from Louis.

“Don’t be.” Louis winks but he still looks troubled.

*

Harry’s in bed later that night, trying to sleep. He probably shouldn’t have had the soda at dinner, what with the caffeine and all. He listens to the hum of Liam’s somewhat endearing, mostly annoying, snore. He really wishes that he could drift off. It’s probably, what – Harry flips over for the umpteenth time and hits the home button on his phone – it’s two in the morning. Tomorrow’s Tuesday but he does have a lot of writing to get done.

Harry sighs, messing with his hair. He’s a bit behind on his coursework, to be completely honest. He’s just been taking all the time he can with Louis, and that means mostly every night, and sometimes sitting in on practices, and then the weekends. So his work is left for sporadic breaks throughout the weekdays. And Tuesdays, because that’s when Louis managed to snag a few hours of work at the gym. _“Gotta pay those bills somehow, Hazza,”_ he’d told him.

Harry flips back onto his back. It’s normal. They’re in the “honeymoon,” or whatever overly sappy word Liam referred to, phase of their relationship right now, apparently. Harry _wants_ to have Louis by his side constantly and his tongue down his throat whenever possible, and, yes, their sex drives can’t really keep up with their dicks at the moment. But they manage to eke out an impressive amount of orgasms anyway – even though they still haven’t gone all the way. Louis hasn’t brought it up again since that first night, and Harry doesn’t want to push. It’s good right now. It’s enough – more than.

And that’s why Harry’s so worried that Jeff’s presence tonight may have thrown a wrench in everything. He wants to believe Liam – who knows more about this closeting, hiding, blinding everyone else crap than Harry, or even Louis, does, for that matter – but he keeps going back to Louis’ reaction after he realized that he’d slipped. That _Oh, shit, I just fucked up my relationship and my future look_. And yes, this is probably why Harry can’t sleep.

He’s given a preoccupation soon enough, however. His phone vibrates with a text message and Harry lurches to grab it before the buzzing and light bothers Liam.

_Louis the Tommo_

_hi. can u come talk for a min? do u know the playgrnd in my complex? like around there._

Harry’s forehead creases as he’s already out of bed and pulling on a pair of joggers and a shirt. He slips a pair of trainers and his heavier coat on as he types out a response. _On my way. Everything alright? xx_

He slips out of the room quietly and exits through the front. Once his body hits the chilly autumn air he really wishes that he’d at least found a pair of jeans instead of these thin joggers. His phone vibrates a second time.

_Louis the Tommo_

_thanks. tell u soon._

Harry only gets more worried as he reads the new message. He tries not to judge people by how they text and such, but this syntax and typing methodology is such a contrast from Louis’ usual grammatically-correct, perky way of talking that he can’t help but be concerned. And they’ve _definitely_ texted this late before, so it can’t be a sleep thing. Something’s wrong.

He finds Louis fifteen minutes later – it would have been ten, but it took him a while to find the playground – sitting in a swing and kicking his feet in the dirt. He quietly approaches and sits in the seat next to him.

“Gonna smudge up your Vans,” he offers quietly.

Louis looks up and smiles. It’s more of a smile of comfort, though, than joy – his eyes don’t crinkle at the corners like they usually do. This is a muted Louis.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, I wasn’t asleep. But it doesn’t matter.” Harry grabs Louis’ hands as if they were five years old and had schoolyard crushes. “I’m here when you need me.”

Louis squeezes. “You’re too good, Harry.”

“No, you,” he teases in return. They sit in silence for a few minutes, swinging back and forth with their hands clasped. “There was something you wanted to tell me?” Harry finally asks.

Louis breathes in and out deeply. “So my coach called earlier.” His voice quavers.

“I know. There’s another recruiter coming, right?”

Harry catches Louis’ nod through the corner of his eyes in the dark. The moon shines down on him, giving him a white glow unlike his usual brightness. “Yes. He’s, uh, coming on the word of the first. And he’s more’n a recruiter, like he isn’t with any one team. ‘S more like he wants to find _me_ a team, instead of the other way around. He’s taking on a few students throughout the country like that.”

Harry tries to suppress a beam. “Louis, this is _great_ news. They’re coming to you, you specifically, because they want _you_ to do well. I’m so happy. You’re happy?”

Louis nods again, but it’s more of a head bob this time. “’S good for me,” he squeaks out.

Harry laces their fingers together even more and rests both of their hands on his knee. “Is there a catch or something? Something you have to do? I mean, I hate to break it to you babe, but you don’t sound all that happy.”

“Coach told me ‘s not gonna work if I’m out.” He looks to his left, away from Harry.

“But you’re not out?” Then his stomach sinks. “Oh no. Is this about – about earlier? Jeff said something, didn’t he? Um – we can…we’ll, like beat him up, Liam and Niall and me, we’ll make him go back and retract –”

“No no no no.” Louis disentangles his hand from Harry’s and runs both through his hair. “It’s not like that. It’s not about today.”

“Okay, so I don’t see what the –”

Louis cuts him off. “It’s not about today,” he repeats. “It’s about everything. It’s about how you come to the games and cheer for me and hug me, and – fuck – no, this isn’t how I wanted to say it, because it isn’t your problem, it’s mine, because I was already so…not-hidden hidden before you came into the picture. Harry, half the school doesn’t really question us, but that’s the problem, because the recruiter is going to show up and if he hears any rumors.” Louis stops mid-statement. Harry feels as though he’s been punched in the gut.

“If he hears any rumors,” Louis continues, “ _He’ll_ question it. And if he questions it, he might not want to put the effort into working with me only to not get me signed. He’ll have to get a convincing answer from anyone he asks, and I don’t know how realistic that is. We’ve been lenient Harry, too much so. And that’s my fault, because I was the one who opened up in the first place –”

“No.” Now Harry cuts him off. “Don’t, like, apologize for letting yourself be happy. Remember what you quoted to me from Zayn? ‘Life has more than one dimension.’ And you’ve been happy in all areas of your life lately, at least I hope so, and you deserve that. Your footballing skills haven’t suffered for that. There should be no problem. It’s awful that there is.”

Louis looks at Harry fondly. “Of course I’ve been happy, Harry. I’ve been happier than I can remember for a long time. And I’m going to continue being happy – things just…things have to change.”

Harry nods slowly. “Still don’t get it, though.”

Louis stands up, his back to Harry. “He told me I should do this whether or not I end things with you – and don’t start on me, I told him that wasn’t an option. He told me I should, uh, spend…more time with girls. He told me I should find a girlfriend, actually. Because if I’m a star footballer with a, and I quote, a ‘lovely, innocent girlfriend’ there will be no questions at all. Because if that’s the scenario the recruiter wouldn’t care to question it.”

Harry exhales, swinging a little as he does so. “You’re gonna get a beard.”

“Yeah.” Louis still doesn’t face Harry. “I think – I think it’s maybe good this way, too. It’ll take the pressure off of us. People here don’t, they don’t really look past their own noses. They’ll see me with a girl, and I’ll still be spending time with you, and they’ll think, ‘Oh, there’s Tomlinson with a woman. Guess he was just friends with the other lad after all.’ And my teammates will know, obviously, but that’s fine. And our friends will know, of course. But, uh. This’ll clear up any problems we might have down the line. I think this is a good thing, Harry. We can’t, like, hang off each other in public any more. But that was probably a mistake anyway.”

Harry grunts.

“Not a mistake. Sorry. It was going a little too far, I guess.”

Harry lets his feet dig into the ground, scuffing up his own shoes. He’s still staring at Louis’ back. “Can you fucking face me?”

Louis whips around, hurt, and Harry immediately regrets his tone and language. “’M sorry.” He stands up and wraps his arms around Louis. “Sorry. I just, like – it’s a lot, you know? Wanted to see you.” He presses a kiss into the top of Louis’ head and the boy below him relaxes into his form.

“Are you mad?” he mumbles into Harry’s chest.

“No. But, it’s – weird, you know?”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you left,” Louis says, face still against Harry. “That’s not a guilt trip or anything. I’m saying don’t feel obligated to stick here with me.”

“Don’t be silly. You laid all your cards out on the table when you asked me out. This isn’t anything new. It’s just more. We’re fine.”

Louis looks up and gives him a small smile. Harry grins in return, whispering, “I like it when you’re happy. Niall told me once that you should do more of what makes you happy. He told me that when he was trying to get me to pull you, actually. Because apparently I had heart eyes or some shit. So if this is gonna make you happier, go for it.” It’s not entirely a lie.

Louis chuckles, takes a step back, and straightens his clothes out. “Happier’s not the right word, but like – less stressed. More at ease.”

Harry gives him a thumbs-up playfully. “Those are good things.”

They sit back down and swing for a while longer.

Harry stops abruptly. “Who’s it going to be?”

“Um. Forget her name, to be honest.”

“ _Awful_ boyfriend,” Harry cuts in, ribbing him.

“Utter trash.” Louis plays along. “I don’t know her personally. My coach suggested her. She – she did it last year, for a player that graduated. He had way less rumors, though, it was more of a personal favor he asked for because of his family, I think, so it’s not like people will question her involvement. I think it’s better that way, someone who’s used to it and knows what they’re getting into.”

“So she just does it for fun? Like, what does she get out of it besides being a star footballer’s girlfriend?”

Louis pauses and kicks at the dirt again. “Well. She’s getting paid some…”

Harry’s stomach churns a bit. “Like a hooker?”

Louis gives Harry a soft shove, making him swing side to side. “Can’t tell if you’re joking. No, she’s not a bloody hooker, it’s a job. Sort of. I’ll pay her a bit, she’ll get free dinners, you know. A way to make some cash on the side.” He pauses, then continues. “It’s not _real_. We’re not going to have sex, you know.”

“Oh, thank god, I was worried I’d have to share,” Harry says exasperatedly. “I can’t lie, Lou, that’s a little weird to me. But I’ll get over it.”

“Okay. Just – remember what I said, at Rosso? This isn’t all that weird, Harry. Relationships for show are really common for people in the public eye, even if they don’t have to hide their sexuality. Celebrities do it all the time for the mutual publicity. We’re not some basket case, here.”

“I guess this is a little less icky than that,” is all Harry can offer.

“I think it’ll work out.”

Harry reaches across and gives Louis’ arm a squeeze. “I _know_ it will. Because I want to be with you.”

Louis stands up and offers a hand. Harry takes it and joins him as they leave the playground. The moon is still shining down on them but the white light is a little less harsh. It still isn’t friendly like the sun, but it isn’t mocking them anymore, either.

Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders. “Can I go up with you?” he whispers in his ear.

Louis looks up at him and nods. “Yeah. Kind of late, though. Just wanna cuddle.” He presses a kiss to Harry’s jawline and Harry in turn buries his face in Louis’ hair.

“Of course. Me too.”

They enter the building quietly and make their way to Louis’ bedroom. Harry has to stifle a laugh as they hear Zayn’s snore in the room over. Louis falls into his bed, wriggling out of his jumper and joggers, and Harry does the same before climbing in with him. He opens his arms for Louis and they’re immediately filled. Harry can feel Louis’ heartbeat racing, and then again as it starts to calm down after a few moments.

“Thank you, Harry,” Louis whispers through the dark.

Harry leans back against the pillow – on the right side of the bed, which has also somehow become “his,” even in so quick a time – and closes his eyes. “You’re welcome. But for what?”

“What you said earlier.” Louis curls into his back so they’re spooning. “Y’know, for wanting to be here. With me.”

He nips at Louis’ shoulder. “Only half for you, silly.” He holds Louis closer. “Don’t worry, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Louis doesn’t respond, but his breath evens out and soon, so does Harry’s.

In the morning, Zayn doesn’t tease him for being there like he usually does.

*

“So explain to me how this works again?” Niall asks Harry as they leave their dormitory with Liam and head down to the football arena for Wednesday night’s game.

“Really, Niall, how hard is it to grasp?” Liam sighs. “Harry’s been over this already. Doesn’t need to talk about it again.”

“I just don’t get it.”

Harry sighs and kicks a stone in front of him. “Like I said, I can’t really be, like, with him in public much anymore. I mean, the five of us, or four, or three, are fine, ‘cause then people won’t think we’re more’n mates. And we can hang out one-on-one sometimes, but not, like, dates or stuff.”

“So why does he need a girl?”

“We’d have to be a lot more careful without one, I guess. You know the world. People see a girl and a bloke together and don’t think twice.” Harry lets the last bit out as a whisper, saying “So it’s better this way. We’ll all be happier.”

“If you’re happy,” Niall concludes, although he sounds unconvinced. “I don’t get why he has to pay her, though.”

Liam lets out a frustrated huff. “Why would she do it otherwise, Niall? I mean, I doubt Louis’ case is as intense as some of the stunts I’ve seen in London, but it’s is so, so common in the entertainment industry. It’s considered a legit job out there. I mean, in my opinion, it’s a bad deal, because you can’t list on your CV it unless the person you did it for comes out, and even then you’ll get weird judgment, but it’s what some girls, and blokes, like. They get free stuff, sweet gigs, and a nice paycheck for what really isn’t that much work.”

“Okay, he gets it, now shut up, we’re around people,” Harry hisses as they approach the arena.

“One more thing!” Niall insists.

“What?” both Liam and Harry respond sharply.

“Calm yer tits,” Niall replies with sass. “What’re we doing after?”

Harry shrugs. “No party, it’s a weeknight. Their coach is strict, you know that. I mean, you guys can go out, but Lou gave me a key to his place.”

“Why a key?” Niall asks as they push their way through the crowds.

“Because I can’t just go back to his place right _with_ him.” Harry retorts lowly. He knows he’s probably been too harsh on Niall tonight. But he just wishes he would get it, and accept it or stop questioning. Between his carefree innocence and Liam’s hardened experience Harry’s been a bit overwhelmed with their support tactics.

“Oh. Sorry, mate.” Niall changes the subject quickly, asking, “Can we sit by Zayn like usual?” They enter and Harry starts scouting out inconspicuous seats.

“No. She’s sitting with him.”

“Well isn’t it less suspicious if we’re by them? You don’t have to sit next to her. It’ll look like she’s sitting with all his mates.”

Liam gives Niall a subtle shove and he shuts up.

Harry grumbles. “I don’t want to sit by her. At least not today.”

He finds them a spot on the opposite side of the arena and higher up than usual. Harry’s phone buzzes as they take their seats.

_Taylor Mayhew_

_Hey._ _J_ _I see you up in the stands with your friends, mind if I join?_

“Oh, fuck,” Harry says.

“What is it?” Niall asks, leaning over Liam to do so.

“Um. That girl I’m, like, friends with. She wants to sit with us.”

“D’you want her to?”

“To be honest, no, because then we can’t really speak freely, can we?”

“Too late,” Liam blurts out. He leans his head back and nods to Harry’s left where Taylor and another girl are approaching.

“Hi Harry!” She takes a seat next to him and her friend by her.

Harry tries to smile. “Hey. Sorry, I was just about to text you back and wave you over.” He leans back to introduce his friends. “Blondie McIrishman over there is Niall, this is Liam.”

“Hi!” Taylor grins and reaches over to shake each of their hands. “My roommate Chelsea came with me tonight.”

Harry nods hello as Chelsea stands and switches to the empty seat by Niall. “He’s in my engineering lecture!” she calls back to Taylor. “Just gonna chat for a minute.”

Taylor nods and leans in to Harry. She’s dressed in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a blue sweater, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She has that red lipstick on again. He tries to open up and include Liam in the conversation but he’s already been roped in by Niall.

“How are things?” she asks.

Harry shrugs. “Pretty good. You know, finally getting set and in a routine.”

“Yeah, same, and –”

Chelsea interrupts them with a squeal. “Oh, Taylor, have you heard? These three help organize a karaoke night! I’ve been meaning to mention it, Niall talked about it in class a few times.”

Harry very nearly lets out a “Fuck you, Niall,” before he clamps his teeth down and bites on his index finger.

“You okay?” Taylor asks.

He rubs his hand on his jeans, embarrassed. “Yeah, sorry, bad habit.”

“Karaoke night? I didn’t know you sang.” And, yeah, fuck, she won’t drop it.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” Harry hopes this blows over. His Monday nights with Louis probably won’t be the same again because of Jeff’s appearance, but he really doesn’t want to mix people he knows with his actual friend group even more now that this whole bearding business has started up. Karaoke is really the one public activity where he has the excuse to focus on Louis and only Louis now, and if he has to say hi to and interact with other people, well, then that ruins that.

“It can’t be nothing! If you’re putting your time in then that’s pretty cool. And with your friends, too, that’s awesome.”

He tries to show a convincing smile. “We’re just helping some of our other friends out, they’re third years. It’s a good time.” He hears the ref blow a whistle and, thankfully, the players jog out onto the field. He’ll be saved from further conversation yet.

“Maybe I’ll drop by sometime,” she offers, turning her attention to the pitch as well.

Harry doesn’t really respond, though, beyond a short nod, because he’s found Louis. It’s not that hard, of course, because he’s leading the Manchester team. And, wow, Harry can’t take his eyes off of him. Not just because of how good he looks physically – which is outstanding. But he’s in his element again. He’s grinning, taking his place as forward, facing against LSE’s team.

“Do you know anyone?” Taylor asks.

“Yeah, the captain, Louis,” Liam butts in, saving Harry from having to talk about him directly. “We do karaoke with him. Great guy.”

Harry ducks his head to give Liam a grateful smile. When he turns back to the pitch he sees that Louis’ moved a bit and is facing where Zayn sits. His eyes follow Louis’ path and, sure enough, he finds Zayn – there’s a girl sitting right next to him. _So this must be her_. She’s a brunette and generic-looking enough, although even Harry has to admit that she’s quite pretty. Louis is waving at her. Harry can’t see his face, but his stature indicates that he’s happy to see her.

Harry feels like he’s been punched in the stomach again. Liam grabs his knee and squeezes. He leans closely into Harry’s ear and whispers as lightly as he can, “It’s acting. I’ve had to do it before. Remember, he’s a drama major.”

Harry nods – he understands that, he does, and Louis must be quite a good actor after all – but as Louis takes his position again and the game starts Harry’s lost much of the excitement he had a few minutes ago. It doesn’t help that Taylor and her friend are here and he can’t exactly slump against Liam in the throes of despair.

The game is great, though. Harry puts on a happy face because if Louis can do it then he can too, and he manages to enjoy himself. Taylor’s actually a really great person to watch a game with – he finds out that she played on the girls’ team in secondary school – and Liam and Harry share a few looks as Niall and Chelsea stop paying attention after a while and just keep chattering back and forth to each other. He has to admit, though, that whenever Louis scores a goal (which is quite often) and they all shoot up, the girl by Zayn does too, and she cheers and shouts and waves her hands in a way that makes Harry truly, horribly jealous.

He wishes that it didn’t.

The game ends 4-2, with Manchester beating London. It’s a great upset, actually, according to Taylor, but Harry wouldn’t have known because they’re on home turf.

After the final whistle blows and all the players shake hands he sees Louis jog over to another man in a suit – he must be the recruiter. Harry is forced to get up when his friends do, but he keeps a close eye on the pitch, and Louis, as they shuffle down the stairs.

After a few minutes he shakes the man’s hand and seems to ask him to stay in place.

“You can look away, Harry,” Liam whispers. “You don’t have to, but maybe you should.”

Harry stares at Liam for a second, confused, before turning back to the pitch, and – oh.

Louis has climbed over the barriers, and embraces Zayn, and then the girl, before he lifts her up and over and walks her back to the recruiter, Zayn in tow. She gets to meet him.

“It only makes sense, Harry, all things considered,” Liam hisses into his ear again as he pushes him along.

“I know.” He turns away and doesn’t look back as they exit the arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I completely finished my detailed outline and I'm really, really excited for where this is going. I'm having a lot of fun and it's going much faster than anticipated (although the next few chapters will probably come out a bit more slowly - I have a ten page research paper due next week). I hope you like this one!
> 
> -
> 
> makesmewannatsss.tumblr.com


	9. And After Having Spent the Day Together

Harry unlocks the door to the flat quietly, as if he were disturbing someone who isn’t there. Zayn went out with Liam and Niall, saying that he would leave Harry and Louis to their own devices. He lets the keys clink in the bowl by the door and walks over to the couch, sitting down gingerly. He tries to shake the weird feeling off – letting yourself into your boyfriend’s place isn’t the most absurd thing ever, especially considering the circumstances. It’s better if Harry and Louis come and go separately anyway.

He flips the telly on and skims through the channels, hoping that something will stick. According to BBC it’s eleven-forty-five. Louis should be coming up soon – he had a meeting with the recruiter and probably the girl or something. Harry gets up and goes to the kitchen to grab a drink. He’s realized how misplaced his anger was earlier, at both Niall (who, to be fair, was being a bit dense) and at Louis. He leans against the counter where Louis sucked him off last week and just wants him to be here, so he can hold him and tell him about the game and where he thinks he’ll be signed to, and how much he wishes that Harry had been the one sitting next to Zayn cheering him on.

He sets the glass in the sink and walks back to the couch. His phone lights up and he looks across the cushion at it.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Can you come down to the front for a moment? xxx_

Harry’s forehead creases as he switches off the telly and picks up his phone. He has no idea what Louis wants and is a bit worried to find out what it is. He kicks his shoes on and grabs the keys before he locks the door. He manages to snag the lift just as the doors start to close and has to sidle into it with an elderly couple. They smile at Harry kindly and he returns it.

He steps out into the lobby and doesn’t see Louis anywhere. He pushes through the front door and is hit with a blast of frigid air when he looks to his right and, standing beside the pillar where Louis snogged him after their first date, sees Louis. With the brunette girl.

He lets the door shut behind him and walks over, rubbing his arms to keep them warm. He wishes he’d grabbed a jumper. “Hi?” he lets out, a puff of his breath following.

The girl smiles at him uncomfortably as she crosses and uncrosses her feet.

Louis nods briskly and takes his coat off, handing it to Harry. “Here. You’ll freeze.”

 “You too, though.” He slips the coat on anyway. It’s warm and smells like Louis, even though it’s rather snug on him.

Louis shrugs. “Just played a game, think I’ve got enough body heat.” He takes a deep breath steps back, gesturing between Harry and the girl.

“Harry, this is Eleanor. Eleanor, Harry. I just wanted you two to meet. Figured it’d be less awkward if you know each other’s names.”

The joke falls flat, but Harry reaches across Louis to shake Eleanor’s (he thinks that was one of his mother’s grandmothers’ names or something) hand anyway. She hesitates, but takes it. “Hi. Thanks for, uh, helping.”

Louis smiles weakly, but encouragingly, at him.

Eleanor tries to smile and answers, “Yeah, of course. I don’t mind it.” She turns to Louis. “Did you need anything else? When do you want me to see you again?”

Harry thinks the way that she worded that last question is weird.

Louis scratches at his head. “Um. Today is…”

“The twenty-fourth. Wednesday.”

“Right, thanks. I’ll be talking with the scout again on Saturday, after practice. He’ll probably be there. Can you swing by then?”

Harry steps back a little to let them work this – their business – out.

“Yeah, I can. We should probably go out that night, too.”

Harry bites his lip.

“I think I’ll be busy. We can talk about it later,” Louis says.

“Louis –”

He cuts her off before she finishes. “I’ll check. Let you know. Have a good night, Eleanor. Do you live nearby? Need a cab?” He cuts in for a quick hug goodbye before she can try and continue the conversation further.

“No, I live on campus. Goodnight. Harry,” she nods as she turns to go.

Louis takes a deep breath and reaches his arm around Harry’s shoulder as they walk inside.

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs as they get on the lift.

“’S okay. That was good of you. Thanks.”

Louis steps aside as Harry exits the lift. “Thought it would be better than watching a nameless girl hang around all the time.”

Harry nods and wraps his arm around Louis’ waist. “Yeah.”

Louis reaches into his jacket, still on Harry, and grabs his key. They walk in as he asks, “Were you okay coming up here?”

“Yeah, it was fine. I drank all your water,” he jokes.

Louis smirks. He shuts and locks the door and looks Harry up and down.

“What?” Harry squawks. “It’s the jacket, innit, I look ridiculous.”

Louis laughs. The sun has mostly returned now. “It’s cute.”

Harry scrunches his nose up and rips the coat off, throwing it messily on a hook on the wall. “ _Cute_ ,” he spits out.

Harry’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when Louis growls, of all things, and presses him against the wall. He leans up and presses his mouth to Harry’s. Harry lies there slackly, letting Louis pin him to the wall with his hands against his chest.

Louis steps back, panting. “Yeah, no, not cute.”

Harry jerks his head toward the bedroom. “C’mon. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Harry follows Louis in, both kicking their shoes off and leaving them in the hallway.

He grabs Louis’ hand and sits on the bed, looking up at him.

“Harry.” Louis’ voice comes out as a strangled cry.

Harry lifts his chin up. “Mmm?”

Louis licks his lips and Harry just wants to shove him onto the bed already, to rip away both of their clothing until nothing is between them, to get him off slowly and thoroughly and hold him as he comes.

Louis looks like he’s hesitating, though. “Iwantyoutofuckme,” he spits out and Harry isn’t quite sure that he got all of that.

He smirks anyway and pulls Louis down so he can whisper into his ear. “What was that?”

Louis gulps. “Want you to…fuck me,” he murmurs, nuzzling Harry’s neck. “Please. I just think I really need it right now.”

Harry tugs on Louis’ hand so he tumbles onto the bed next to him. He’s lying down, hand still intertwined with Harry’s. “You sure?” Harry thumbs Louis fingers softly.

He nods. “Yes. Yes. I need to let go right now. I don’t wanna think. Or be in control.”

Harry lets his head fall back. “I can definitely help you with that, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Okay, then get on with it,” Louis snaps playfully.

Harry rolls over onto Louis and dips his head, leaning down to kiss him. Louis moans and his back arches, his arms snaking up and running up Harry’s chest. Harry lets his tongue lick across Louis’ lips as they open softly and he kisses him more and more and more until Louis is writhing underneath him.

He lifts his chin up and Harry drops lower to start sucking on the dip of his right collarbone. Louis hisses. “Harry,” he lets out breathily.

“Louis,” Harry mimics as he bites at his earlobe. He shifts and sits up regretfully, although Louis doesn’t seem to mind all that much as Harry settles on his pelvis.

Harry tugs at Louis’ shirt, pushing it up to his shoulders. “Off,” he says with a light laugh.

Louis smiles and gets tangled in it as his head can’t get out. Harry leans over and gives it a yank, smiling down at Louis once it’s off. Louis bites his lip and Harry can’t help but exclaim, “Fuck.”

Now Louis laughs. “Get on with it,” he hisses again.

Harry nods excitedly. He rocks on Louis’ hips once, twice, three times before scooting down and pushing down Louis’ joggers.

“You fucking tease,” Louis whimpers.

Harry just looks up and smirks as he traces the outline of Louis’ already very hard cock through his pants. “Shhh,” he says. He plays at the waistband before slipping the pants down too and watching Louis’ cock spring flush against his stomach.

“Harry.” Louis flings his head back and closes his eyes.

“Mmm?” Harry wraps his hand around Louis’ dick and pumps slowly, precome already leaking as he rubs his thumb across the slit.

“Shit, fuck, oh god,” Louis curses. His hips try to buck up and Harry brings his other hand around to steady them. He grips them tightly and Louis only groans harder. “Don’t wanna come already,” he whimpers.

“Yeah, but…” Harry’s voice drops. “It’ll relax you. Promise.”

Louis nods, sweat beads forming along his hairline. “Okay.” His breath hitches. “Then do it _quickly_ , please.”

Harry smirks, but picks up the pace nonetheless. He pumps harder and faster, pausing only to spit on his hand to add lubrication to his actions. He watches Louis’ face closely as he drops his other hand from his hips to his inner thigh. He kneads at the taught, muscled skin for a moment before he licks his thumb and drops it to Louis’ hole, rubbing lightly.

Louis moans. “Fuck – are you – ?”

Harry shifts to adjust the angle he’s jacking Louis off at. “Not yet,” he says, still massaging the area around Louis’ rim. “Just getting you used to it.”

“Okay – yeah – fuck, Harry, that feels really good.”

Harry shifts again so he’s lying lengthwise along Louis’ body and switches hands on his cock, bringing his free one up by his head. Louis surprises Harry by opening his mouth and licking the precome and saliva mixture off of Harry’s fingers. He closes his eyes and moans at the sensation of Louis’ tongue on his fingertips.

“Ever had anything in your arse before?” he whispers.

“Been a while,” he says. “Just a finger.”

“Sure you want to do this tonight?” He opens his eyes and makes contact with Louis’. Christ, he wants to fuck him so badly, but needs to make sure that he’s all for it. “Don’t, like…think you need to prove anything to me, or whatever.”

Louis whimpers, bringing his knees up and feet flat on the bed as Harry keeps going. “Yes. ‘M not trying to prove anything.” He pants and juts his hips down and forward into the bed. “I want you to fuck me with your dick in my arse. _That’s_ what I want.”

Harry snickers and presses his mouth to the side of Louis’. “Okay. Okay.” His grip on Louis tightens as his hips start to buck again, and Harry doesn’t try to temper them this time. Louis whimpers and Harry leans up so he’s kissing him flat on the mouth, and presses harder as Louis comes into his hand and across his stomach, alternating moans and whimpers into Harry.

“You relaxed?” Harry murmurs as he pulls away slowly.

Louis stretches out, kicking his joggers and pants off of his ankles and onto the floor. “ _Yes_.”

“Good.” Harry gets up and off the bed, picking Louis’ clothes off and throwing them into his hamper.

“What the hell are you doing?” Louis hisses, sitting up and lazily running a hand through his hair.

Harry lets a smile slip out. “Giving you a minute.” He reaches across to the nightstand and passes Louis a tissue, looking pointedly at his come-streaked chest.

“I’ll be ready soon enough, get your arse back in bed,” Louis huffs as he wipes himself down.

Harry’s smile turns into a smirk as he keeps eye contact with Louis and palms himself through his jeans. Louis’ eyes widen and his mouth drops into an “O.” Harry remembers Louis’ reaction the last time he took off his clothes by himself. He fully intends to put another show on tonight.

Harry lets his head fall back as he moans, continuing to massage his already plenty hard dick. He hears Louis whimper innocently and watches his hand travel back to his own cock, tossing the tissue aside.

Harry stands up straight again and whips his shirt off, dropping it and running his hands through his hair.

“Harry.”

Harry blushes a little and finds Louis’ eyes again, sprawled out on his bed and naked, pumping himself as his eyes travel Harry’s chest and focus on the tight bulge in his jeans.

Harry raises an eyebrow as his hands find their way to his jeans. “Just takin’ my clothes off, Lou,” he whispers as he shoves his jeans down and off.

“It’s fucking hot, Harry, and you know it. You know exactly what you’re fucking doing to me.”

“Maybe,” Harry muses as he drops his hand into his pants and pumps slowly, warming himself up.

“Get back in bed,” Louis hisses, and for a moment he thinks Louis is going to literally jump him right then and there. He drops his pants and crawls toward Louis, who’s moving up by the pillows now.

Louis is sticky, with traces of come on his torso and with a whole lot of sweat everywhere, and his scent is so musky that Harry is driven mad. He squeezes Louis’ biceps, and waist, and hips, and thighs, and lets his eyes roam his body. Louis does the same.

He feels so incredibly lucky that he gets to do this with Louis, that Louis _wants_ to do this with him. “You ready again?” Harry whispers.

Louis nods. “Lube and condoms are in that drawer.” He jerks his head to the nightstand.

Harry leans over, pulls the small bottle and foil wrappers out, and tosses them onto the bed. “Gonna fuck you,” he mumbles into Louis’ ear, tonguing it as he does so. Louis groans far louder than Harry expected from that contact. He continues. “You want that?” he breathes. “Tell me what you want.”

“Already did,” Louis barely squeaks out, his hands gripping Harry’s arse.

“Again.”

“Want you to fill me up. Want you to wreck me.”

Harry closes his eyes and hums. “I can do that.”

“Then _do it_ ,” Louis spits out with venom.

“So _harsh_ ,” Harry teases as he sits up and flips the bottle of lube open. He squirts some on his fingers and rubs it around them. He nudges Louis’ legs open with his clean hand and traces around his rim gently with the other.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says as he slowly pushes with his index finger.

“’M good,” Louis breathes, and then hisses as Harry’s finger slowly enters him.

“Does it hurt?” Harry asks, looking up concernedly.

“Keep going,” Louis urges.

Harry slides the rest of his finger in slowly and although Louis twists uncomfortably for a moment, he whispers, “More.”

Harry laughs. “Wait a minute.” He slides his finger in and out, watching Louis writhe. “You look so good from here.”

“I _feel_ good, Harry.”

And that makes Harry moan, for God knows what reasons.

He slides another finger in bit by bit, watching Louis hitch and jerk and then start to grind against his fingers. Harry moves in, and out, and scissors them a little until he hits the spot that makes Louis nearly yell, “ _Harry_! The fuck – what was –”

“Shhh!” Harry says, biting his lips to keep from giggling. “Feel good?”

Louis nearly sobs. “So good. So, so, so good.”

“Never found your prostate before?”

“No. Knew it was there, but. No.”

Harry pushes again, making Louis reach behind him to grip the headboard. “Never even by yourself? Never touched yourself, fingered yourself before?”

“No.” He can tell Louis’ trying to steady his breathing and Harry’s teasing is certainly not helping. “Harry, come on, please. Just want your cock.”

Harry pulls his fingers out and wipes them off with a tissue. Louis cries out at the loss of contact.

“Shh Lou,” Harry murmurs. “You’re so loud. Neighbors are gonna hear.”

“They’re gonna be jealous,” he counters.

Harry laughs. He tries to rip the condom packet open but his fingers are trembling and he has to sit for a minute. “Sorry.” He breathes in and out. “It’s been a while.”

“Excited?” Louis lays back on the pillow, one knee popped and the other leg lying flat. His cock is starting to grow hard again.

“Fuck yeah.” Harry finally gets the condom out and rolls it up his dick. He squeezes more lube into his hand and slicks himself up, getting back on his knees. “Okay. You can get on your hands and knees or you can stay like his. Might be better the first way.”

Louis shakes his head like a petulant child. “Wanna see you.”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. Spread your legs.”

Louis does so and Harry gets in between him, letting Louis’ thighs rest on his. He grabs his hips and guides his cock to Louis’ hole. “You good?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Harry, get on with it.”

Harry smiles. “Got it.” He pushes in slowly and Louis grips Harry’s arms but nods for him to keep going.

Harry pushes in bit by bit and soon he leans forward so that he’s gripping the headboard and is inches from Louis’ mouth. “Still good?” he breathes, their noses touching. Harry’s trying his best to focus and keep his attention on Louis, but – _God_ – he isn’t even all the way in yet, and Louis is so tight, and it’s been so long for Harry, he’s getting lost in the sensations as much as Louis is. He’s enveloped in the moment, feeling Louis’ hands turn from his own arms to his back, and the way his fingers dig – _fuck_ – it’s taking all of Harry’s concentration to stay still.

“Mmmmm,” is all that comes out of Louis’ mouth.

Harry bottoms out and sits up for a moment to position one of Louis’ legs against his shoulder before leaning further down. He kisses Louis all over his face before dropping to suck and bite at his neck. “’M deep now,” he strangles out, lower in his register than expected.

Louis helps Harry get a better angle of his neck by twisting his head around. “Is it as deep as your voice?”

Harry just groans in response as Louis settles into his cock more.

“Tell me when,” he murmurs, still sucking and bruising Louis. “Might, uh, sorry, not last very long.”

Louis chuckles breathily. “’S okay. Fuck, Harry, I can’t – move _now_ , please, fuck me already.”

Harry raises his hands back to the headboard and kisses Louis lightly as he starts to rock his hips and Louis’ leg tightens around him. He opens his mouth and pants, Louis doing the same.

“Faster, harder – fuck me,” Louis moans directly into Harry’s mouth.

Harry picks up the pace and pulls out further this time, driving himself back into Louis more roughly than he intended.

Louis shouts his name in pleasure.

Harry takes his cues from that, snapping his hips and gripping the headboard so tightly he thinks that he’s probably leaving a mark, he and Louis breathing into each other’s mouths as Harry groans and pants “ _LouisLouisLouis_ ,” and he could swear that Louis is just screaming his name out now, “ _HarryHarryHarry_ ,” and, God, Harry has never had such an intense or in-tune moment before.

Louis’ hands find Harry’s curls, and his fingers thread into them and pull, and Harry is loud now, louder than he thinks Louis probably is, and, fuck, if Louis keeps this up he isn’t going to be able to last longer. He leans down further and his head is nestled in the crook of Louis’ neck as he pulls and yanks and Harry thrusts and grinds. Harry can feel Louis’ cock, completely hard again and leaking now, between their stomachs, and as he grazes it he can feel the twitch and the jerk, and Louis is panting faster and faster but he keeps pulling, and Harry can’t focus on two things at once, on lasting, and on the sounds coming out of him, and on fucking Louis into oblivion, and – shit – Louis comes again between them and he’s making these high-pitched sounds that Harry has never heard before, still yanking at his curls, and –

Harry comes with a shudder, collapsing onto Louis, mixing with the sweat and come, and Louis’ leg lands lazily across his back. He keeps his head in Louis’ neck for now, biting as he tries to catch his breath.

“Lou,” he mouths into his skin.

He doesn’t respond.

Harry’s arms feel like jelly but he props himself up on them and looks down at Louis, who’s eyes are barely open and still breathing deeply. “Mmm,” is all he croaks out.

“How are you?”

“I just –” he still can’t quite catch his breath. “I just came twice in half an hour and got my arse fucked,” he says. “I’m doing quite well.”

Harry laughs and kisses his cheek sloppily, propping up some more as he pulls out. He slides the condom off and knots it, tossing it into the bin.

He lies down beside Louis and threads their hands together. “No words,” he says.

Louis nods up and down. “Dunno what to say. That was – fuck, Harry, I don’t think I can speak. You wore my voice out.”

“Me too,” Harry says hoarsely.

“Thank you,” Louis whispers.

Harry squeezes his hand tighter. “Thank _you_.”

Louis takes a deep breath as if to collect himself and rolls to face Harry. Harry does the same.

“I am really, really glad that was with you.” He reaches a hand out and squeezes Harry’s shoulder.

Harry breathes in and out contentedly. “I’m really, really glad I made it good for you.”

Louis giggles like a child. “More’n good, Hazza. I won’t be able to think of anything else for a week. Maybe two. Probably a month.”

“And after that?”

Louis considers for a moment. “Well then at some point I’d like to give your arse a go, so I’ll have that to focus on.” He reaches over and slowly squeezes Harry’s bum.

Harry shudders with pleasure at the thought. “Yeah, Lou.”

“Harry?”

“Louis?”

“I have come on my stomach.” Louis shifts as if to emphasize his point.

“That’s hot,” Harry murmurs through closed eyes.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Louis teases lightly.

“Did you wanna shower?” Harry blinks slowly.

“Mmm, tomorrow.”

Harry laughs and cuddles right up to Louis. “’M tired.”

Louis curls into his body, fitting perfectly.

Harry falls asleep with his lips on Louis’ forehead.

*

The week of Halloween might be “Reading Week” – also known as a week off from the hell that are lectures – but most everyone Harry knows isn’t treating it as holiday or leaving. Given that they’re in the thick of midterms, the break is appreciated even by the least academic.

There’s still a home game on the night of Halloween, though, and Harry isn’t going. He makes the conscious decision not to – instead, there’s a themed night at one of the local pubs that he made plans for with Liam and Niall and Zayn and they’re all going to dress like pirates. Niall insists on being the captain of the group even though none of their costumes are really discernable from each other.

Louis pouts a little when they tell him that they’re leaving him alone that night, but he gets over it. “I have to go to a fancy party for a while, anyway,” he mutters to Niall and Harry over lunch in an on-campus café. “Might as well stay the whole time.”

“You can always join us after,” Niall offers. “Just grab a mask or summat.”

Louis shakes his head and frowns as Harry leans over and steals a chip from his plate. “It’s a costume party there. The team’s doing face paint or whatever. And, uh, yeah – I can’t really go to another party after, actually.”

They get the picture.

Harry picks at his sandwich, taking off the pickles. Niall takes them with his fork and slides them into his own. Harry can’t help but smile. Niall’s a good sport, he really is, meeting the two of them for lunch during Louis’ work break. They’re probably quite insufferable but Niall only teases. And Harry doesn’t mind having him here – when Louis and Harry gang up on him it’s entertaining for everyone.

Louis turns to Harry. “Can I swing by yours after everything?” he asks quietly. “It’ll be late, we’re fine.” He rubs his head subtly against Harry’s shoulder and Niall makes a face.

“Yes please.” Harry smiles and squeezes Louis’ knee under the table. “What time?”

“Twelve, maybe? One? I’ll text you.”

“Just, like, don’t text him all night again,” Niall insists. “That was really gross last time, I caught one of the messages and –”

“Niall!” Harry shrills, throwing another of Louis’ chips at him.

“You need to find someone for yourself, even for a night, Niall,” Louis announces.

The way Niall rubs his hand against his neck and looks down makes Harry suspicious. “Niall – you’re hiding something.”

“Don’t hide things from your parents, Niall Horan!” Louis scolds, making Harry crack up. Louis’ right – their dynamic is hilariously familial, the three of them together.

Niall groans and drops his head to his hands. “Only, like for the past week,” he admits. “Just since the game, Harry, we’ve been out maybe three, four times…”

“Four times in a week?” Harry’s eyes bug out and he leans in. “Who is she? What do you mean ‘since the game’?”

Louis joins him in staring Niall down and neither blinks until he speaks.

“It’s Chelsea, Harry!” Niall hisses, dropping his chin to their level as if he were the one hiding the forbidden relationship. “Your friend’s friend. And, like, I knew her before. She’s in one of my lectures. But we exchanged numbers after the game, and well…”

“I didn’t see that!” Harry gasps incredulously. He nudges Louis’ foot with his own, internally laughing at how serious Niall is over this. He’s quite fun to play mind games with.

“Yeah, you were too busy checking out Lou’s –”

“Don’t call him Lou.”

Louis laughs.

“Yeah, okay, why can’t I? Is that some forbidden nickname?”

Louis practically leans across the table to whisper in Niall’s ear. “It’s what he calls me after he comes.” He snaps back to his own chair, smirking with satisfaction.

Harry’s afraid that he’s going to retch up his lunch, he’s nearly doubled over with laughter from the look on Niall’s face. Harry thinks it’s probably quite comparable to his own expression after he walked in on Gemma and her boyfriend last year. (He had assumed that when you share a house with someone that the living room is considered off-limits for sex. He had assumed wrong.)

“I hate you. I hate you both. I hope you rot in hell for how fucking nasty you two are,” Niall whispers vehemently.

Harry and Louis just grin.

Niall grips his hands on the table as if to steady himself. “Okay, well, now let me try and put _that_ out of my mind. Is it okay if she joins us tonight, Harry?”

Harry smiles and pats Niall’s hand. “Why are you asking me? I’d like to meet her.”

Niall nods, immediately perking up. “Great, perfect, I’ll just text her now.”

“Our baby’s growing up,” Harry whispers to Louis, just loud enough to Niall can hear him and shoot a glare.

*

By the time they’re able to round everyone up that night – Taylor in tow as well – it’s near ten already and they’re all well-intoxicated. Harry messes with the giant robe he has on, trying to get it to stay tied, as they walk into the pub. It’s crowded, dark, and strobe lights are flashing everywhere.

He grabs onto Zayn. “Gonna pass out, mate.”

Zayn laughs and flips his eye patch up to look him in the eyes. “Harry, no, _she_ wouldn’t like that very much,” he teases, indicating Taylor behind them – on the walk over she’d been extremely handsy with Harry, much to his chagrin.

Harry groans and whacks Zayn across the head.

“Who wants drinks?” Liam asks the group.

Everyone raises their hands but Harry. “Hold on, Liam,” he says, fumbling for his phone. He’s already rather drunk and is seeing Louis later. He’d prefer to keep things evenly paced between the two of them. _how drunk r u_ , he types out.

Liam rolls his eyes. “So everyone but Harry, then, got it.” He walks up to the bar.

Harry looks behind him, hearing his friends dissipate. Niall and Chelsea disappear off somewhere, Niall’s hand glued to her waist. She’s a nice enough girl – chipper enough to keep up with Niall, and not as grating as Harry’s first impression of her had been. Zayn follows Liam to the bar, cursing loudly about his eye patch – “Why was I elected to be the one to wear it? Why is it necessary to tonight’s atmosphere, yeah, or whatever the fuck you said?”

And Taylor squeezes Harry’s shoulder in a way that he desperately hopes is par for the course for straight girls touching their platonic male friends. “Dance floor?” she asks.

Harry sighs. A dance won’t hurt. And she has absolutely no reason to think that they’re anything but friends. He would have come out to her by now, probably, if it wasn’t for Louis’ tightening closet. He doesn’t want to make anything more complicated in that regard than it already is. “One dance, sure.”

She takes him by the hand and leads him further into the pub, laughing as she turns around and takes him by the shoulders to dance. All he can do is thank the powers that be that an upbeat Katy Perry tune, and not some slow dance, comes on, and then they’re bouncing.

Harry is not a particularly good or impressive dancer unless he’s trying to get someone into bed. But let it be known that he knows how to have fun on a dance floor – his time out there ends up being far longer than one song.

They dance, and Liam comes by with her drink, and they keep dancing, quietly laughing at the costumes around them which range from a sexy bee to a dinosaur to Simon Cowell. The latter outfit nearly gives Liam a heart attack that they can hear from a few meters away.

Then a slow Ed Sheeran tune comes on and he excuses himself. She looks disappointed as he steps across to the bar, but ropes Liam over to continue dancing with her soon enough.

Harry leans against the corner of the counter and pulls out his phone. He’s got a message.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Sorry for just seeing this. Not that drunk, this place only serves champagne and they give you a once over when you ask for a third glass. Can I come to you at midnight? Please set me free from these stuck up socialites who think they’re ‘hip,’ Haz. xx_

Harry laughs. Poor Louis. _Yes. Midnight. My place. xXxXxX_

He looks up and sees Taylor coming toward him. She’s pouting. “Liam left me, Harry, come back out here!”

“’M tired!” he says, sitting on a bench against the wall.

She sits down next to him. “Not gonna leave, are you? Let’s grab another drink.”

He shakes his head. “It’s like…” He checks his phone, then continues, “Fifteen past eleven. ‘M gonna head out in half an hour probably. Go up, order a drink, I’ll get a glass of water with you.”

She sighs and stands up, holding her hand for him to take. He does. “Have it your way, Harry. Why are you leaving so early?”

He shrugs, taking a seat at a barstool with her. “Stuff to do tomorrow. Don’t wanna be out too late or hungover.”

“Do you need help getting back?” The question is asked innocently enough but she cocks her head with an added interest.

Harry shakes his head decisively. “I’m good, pretty sober now, thanks.”

“Okay, Harry.”

He says goodbye to his friends at eleven forty-five and heads back to campus. He really hates the robe now – it might be Halloween, and everyone else around him may be in the same boat, but it’s ridiculous and huge and a pain in the arse. He wants to get it off and shove it away in his closet before Louis comes by. Speaking of Louis…

_Louis the Tommo_

_On my way now. What’re with your oddly punctuated kisses?_

Harry smirks as he enters his dormitory building. _Think of it as me pressing my lips to you to a certain rhythm._

He exits the stairwell and turns to his room. Once he gets in he throws the blasted robe off and clicks a light on to fix his hair. It’s matted and sticky from the dancing and alcohol. He gets it to a somewhat impressive state soon enough and takes everything off but his puffy white shirt and black skinnies. There’s a knock on the door.

He opens it to find Louis in a black button up and trousers with a face full of white paint. Harry tries not to laugh. “Spirit?” he guesses. “Zombie?”

Louis rolls his eyes as he kicks his shoes off and collapses on Harry’s bed. Harry shuts and locks the door, bringing the light down with a  smirk. “How was your party?”

“I told you,” Louis huffs. “It was boring as shit. The team, coach, and a bunch of city bigwigs. We needed some funding, apparently, and the best way to get it was to make us hang around them on Halloween, one of the few days a year that’s usually just uni students getting pissed.”

“Pub was boring too,” Harry says as he slides into bed by Louis. “Kept my promise to Niall, though, and only texted you that one time. And, answer me, what are you?”

Louis winces and slowly says, “We were footie balls.”

“Louis Tomlinson. You are the worst excuse for a footie ball that I have ever seen in my life. Ever.”

Louis rolls over and groans into Harry’s chest. “Eleanor put the paint on too, all of the girls did. It was so dumb. The rich arseholes just had these fancy, idiotic-looking masks on. And like I said, I only got three glasses of champagne before they scared me away from their sad, pathetic excuse for a bar.” He reaches his hands up into Harry’s hair. “But I’ll stop complaining. I’m here with you.”

“Mmmm,” Harry hums.

“What do you want me to do to you tonight?” Louis hisses, changing the mood quickly and rubbing his face into the curls as well.

“Whatever you want.”

Louis sits up. “Would it freak you out if I blew you with the paint on? Seems an awful shame to waste time washing it off, and it’ll take a while…”

“Fuck no,” Harry breathes out, sitting to match Louis. “Just want your mouth.” He pulls him into a kiss as Louis goes back to working through the curls with his fingers.

Their tongues tangle with the other’s, their bodies rock back and forth, slotting together perfectly. Harry quickly becomes worked up and short of breath, amazed at how turned on and hard just kissing, gripping Louis this close has made him. He drops his mouth and works his way down Louis’ neck, working a moan out of him.

Harry nudges Louis’ shirt buttons with his nose. Louis gulps, nodding and letting Harry unbutton him. “We…we should be quiet,” Louis whispers.

“’M not the one moaning,” Harry teases. He pushes Louis gently onto his back so his head hits the pillow as he works his way down his chest. He leaves butterfly kisses as he goes, finally yanking the coattails of his shirt out of his trousers and helping Louis wrangle his arms free.

“No fair,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s head in his hands and kissing him again. “But I’ll keep it down. Don’t need –” His breath hitches as Harry pulls him onto his lap, Harry’s thigh sliding between his legs. “Don’t need another note.”

Harry smirks. On Thursday morning last week Louis had woken up for his lecture at nine and, as he was leaving, Harry was startled awake by a screech. A note had been slipped under the door, in scraggly, elderly handwriting that had read _Reminder that this complex has thin walls. Couldn’t quite make out who you were talking to but our old ears still know what you were talking about. Kindly keep it down next time._ They laughed, but would have laughed harder if it wasn’t so convenient that the senior citizens next door saved them from having to explain why Louis was moaning Harry’s name and not a woman’s. They both know that Harry’s neighbors won’t be quite so deaf should another incident arise.

“How the fuck do you get this thing off?” Louis pulls at Harry’s pirate shirt.

“Hold on.” Harry nudges Louis off of him and tugs at the strings lacing his back. “Pull from here.” He turns so his back is facing Louis.

“And you –” Louis pulls the laces out. “Said my –” He rises onto his knees and yanks. “Costume was –” He pulls again to get it off of Harry’s head. “Bad.” He gets the shirt off and throws it aside, flipping Harry around again and starting to work at his jeans, giving him an unamused eyebrow raise.

“Sorryyy,” Harry drawls, letting his head fall back sleepily.

Louis smirks as he pulls Harry’s jeans and pants below his knees and has to scoot down the bed to get them off of his ankles. “These are so damn tight I can’t even get them off one at a time, you tease.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of a tease? Like, you’re just getting at my cock quicker,” Harry muses as he starts to lazily stroke it while Louis balls up Harry’s jeans and pants and throws them onto the floor.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Louis snaps, coming back up to Harry. “My job. And what do you think you are, then, a slag?” He nudges Harry’s hands away and starts pumping Harry’s cock himself.

“’M only a slag for you,” Harry breathes out, gripping the bedsheets with his fists.

Louis pauses for a moment and steels himself. “That’s really hot, Hazza,” he leans down and whispers into Harry’s ear. “Want my mouth on you now?”

Harry nods wordlessly.

Louis straddles him again, at his knees this time. He bends down and keeps eye contact with Harry as he does so, sloppily licking the head of Harry’s cock and running his tongue around the slit.

Harry wants to throw his head back and scream bloody murder into the dark room but manages to keep himself under control, keeping his eyes locked with Louis. He doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of the way that his tongue works him.

Louis closes his eyes and sucks lower, moaning against his dick. Harry lifts a hand to his mouth and bites to keep quiet, a task that’s near impossible at this point. Louis squeezes at Harry’s thighs in a way that he just knows there will be bruise marks there in the morning. He bobs his head up and down, letting his tongue spread out and lick the base of Harry each time he goes down.

“Mmghdlskfff,” Harry groans. “Can’t be quiet.”

Louis comes up with a _pop_ and a twinkle in his eye. “Gonna have to be.” He winks and starts licking, nibbling at Harry’s thighs before making his way back to his cock.

“We’re fucking at your place from now on.”

“Gonna keep traumatizing the oldies?” Louis murmurs against his dick.

“Mmhmm.” Harry grabs one of his smaller throw pillows and presses his face to it, letting himself moan louder when Louis takes nearly all of him in one go.

He doesn’t know how long the next few moments are. He feels like it could be an hour or that it could be five minutes. All he knows is that his face is pressed into the pillow, blacking out the dark shadows in the cool room and he feels nothing but Louis’ wet, warm mouth taking him in, sucking him up, swirling around his cock and Louis’ delicate yet strong fingers pressing into every inch of his surrounding flesh.

He’s moaning, panting, chewing at the pillow and his mind is completely wrecked from further thought. He thinks that he hears Louis say something at one point but only lets a groan slip in response. He feels the warmth in his core grow and grow until it’s spreading everywhere and his hips are jerking and he clutches the pillow tighter as he comes, comes into Louis’ mouth, into the back of his throat, and Louis is moaning with him. His moans are soft, subtle, and careful, but are there and for Harry’s ears only.

As his pulse calms down Harry tosses the pillow aside to find Louis looking up at him lazily, with hooded eyelids, and licking his lips. Harry bites his own and lets his eyes roam up to the ceiling.

Louis rolls over onto his back and shimmies up to Harry, flinging an arm across his chest.

“I got lost,” Harry murmurs. “In your mouth.”

Louis presses a kiss to his ear. “You’re too big to get lost in there.”

Harry laughs loudly as he turns to look at Louis. “What do you want?” He waggles his eyebrows, meaning to mock Louis’ pattern, but Louis just presses a hand to Harry’s forehead to stop him.

He blushes. “That’s not necessary.”

“Why?” Harry whines, dropping a hand to Louis’ still-clothed crotch. It’s wet and Louis’ gone soft.

“Too late,” Louis whispers, pressing his mouth to Harry’s face again. “Think your dick is magical. Whether it’s in my arse or my mouth it gets the job done.”

“Fuck, Lou,” he says, palming Louis a little anyway.

They continue to give each other pecks on the mouth until Louis sits up and yawns. “Does Liam care if he comes in to us asleep?”

Harry takes a swig of water from the bottle on his nightstand and shrugs. “Doesn’t matter anyway, he said he’d go back to Zayn’s.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Wait, but, like that? I didn’t…”

“No, no. Said he’ll sleep on your couch, that he couldn’t bear sleeping where we’ve fucked.”

Louis squints his eyes and blinks. “Did you tell him?”

Harry laughs and passes the water to Louis. “Nope.” Harry figures that what Liam doesn’t know won’t kill him. The only place that he and Louis haven’t done anything at all is Zayn’s room. And, really, Harry wasn’t about to suggest that to his roommate, all things considered. “He’ll survive.”

Louis snorts takes the rest of his clothes off. “Bed time for me,” he says, crawling under the comforter and beckoning Harry to do the same. “For us,” he corrects, as Harry snuggles into him.

*

“Liam!” Harry hears Louis screech as they wake up. “It’s – fuck – have you no respect for sleep?”

Harry opens his eyes to find Louis sitting up in bed, still naked and very grumpy. He sees Liam rifle through his desk somewhat loudly, grabbing books and dropping them into his bag. Harry sits up and rubs at his eyes.

“It’s eleven-thirty,” Liam states flatly.

“Fuck!” Louis jumps out of bed and starts rummaging through Harry’s closet. “Why didn’t I set a fucking alarm?” he scolds himself. “Harry, I can’t go to work in my dress clothes, can I snag some of yours?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, pulling his pants on and chuckling as Liam pointedly turns away while they change.

“You two look like zombies,” Liam says, his back still turned. Harry climbs over the bed, grabbing Louis for support as he finds jeans and a t-shirt.

“Whaddaya mean by that?” Louis asks, bending down to roll up the ankles of one of the less skin-tight pairs of jeans he found. “Haz, do these fit my arse okay?” He stands up and twists around anxiously, smoothing out the hoodie he had just donned.

“Perfectly,” Harry responds, squeezing him.

Liam makes a gagging noise. “I mean, you’re both all marked up and white. Nasty.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment!” Louis says as he pulls his shoes on. “Dress shoes will have to do.” He gives Harry a chaste kiss and heads for the door. “How can I get out of here subtly?”

“Fire exit.” Liam turns around. “Never goes off.”

Louis nods. “Thanks. See you lads later.” He shoots Harry a wink before slipping the hood on and darting away.

“Thanks for staying over there.” Harry starts throwing his own bookbag together. “How was your night?”

Liam shrugs. “Pretty good. We were only there an hour, hour and a half after you left. Their couch is comfortable.”

Harry stifles a laugh.

“Um. Harry, can I ask you a question?”

“’Course, Liam.” He has a group study session for sociology in less than half an hour but doesn’t really have time to do more than go straight to the library anyway. He drops his bag and leans against the wall.

“I know I’ve, like, mostly put this out of my mind for a while. But has Louis ever mentioned anything about Zayn to you? Like, about people he’s seen? I know he likes girls somewhat, but I was just wondering if…”

Poor Liam. He’s sitting on his bed, hands twisting and he looks like a nervous, lovestruck puppy. “I honestly have no idea, Liam, I’m sorry. Louis hasn’t said anything. I dunno how to ask, really, either. I’m sorry…did something happen last night?”

Liam sighs and grabs the strap of his bag again. “No, no. And I know. I’m thinking…I think I might ask him again. Just one more time and I’ll put it out of my mind forever.”

“If that’ll put you at rest, regardless of the answer you get, I think you should go for it. Just be prepared. Zayn doesn’t want to hurt you, I know that for sure, but he’s going to be honest.” Harry slips his rucksack onto his shoulders and grabs his keys. “Good luck, okay? Let me know when you’re going to do it.”

Liam nods. “Thanks, Harry. I appreciate that.”

Harry pulls a scarf off of his desk to hide the lovebites from last night and heads to the library. Thankfully, everyone else on campus is a bit slow – tired and hungover – from the previous night as well. That doesn’t stop the constant stream of odd stares he gets, though, as he walks to the room that the course’s teaching assistant reserved.

He sits down, confused and thinking that he’s hallucinating, until Taylor leans over to him in the middle of someone’s discussion on cultural deviance. “What’s in your hair, Harry?” she asks, brushing at it lightly.

He jerks away on instinct. “What d’you mean?” He pats it himself.

“It’s white and flaky. Didn’t rub your dry shampoo in well enough?”

_Shit_. He must look ridiculous. _Louis’ face._

“Um, yeah. Woke up late, didn’t get a chance to shower. I’ll fix it soon, thanks.” He’s grateful for the out she just gave him, though.

“No problem. You must’ve been tired, then, to leave that early and just have woken up.” She smiles.

Harry nods, hoping that his discomfort doesn’t show through his face. “Yeah, think I might be coming down with something.” He coughs rather obnoxiously to prove his point and all it earns him is a glare from the teaching assistant.

“What was that, Harry?” She turns to him. “Did you have the four instances of how an individual deviates from cultural norms?”

Harry groans and flips through his notes quickly.

*

Early next week Harry is in bed, scrolling through his Facebook feed aimlessly. It’s near midnight and he should probably try and go to sleep sometime soon, but he’s having one of those teenage, let-me-see-how-far-I-can-push-this-night moments. It’s too late to start another textbook chapter, too late to text Louis, who has an early-morning practice tomorrow, and too early to text Niall, who’s probably wrapped up in bed with Chelsea. Those two have been giving Harry an inkling about how everyone must feel about him and Louis being up in each other all the time.

And then Liam comes through the door, loudly and with a hardened expression on his face.

Harry glances up from the harsh glow of his laptop and furrows his eyebrows in worry. “Y’alright? Coming from the library?”

Liam drops his bag and falls into his bed. “Wash, rinse, repeat, Harry,” he moans.

Harry looks over. “Care to explain?”

“Talked to Zayn,” Liam mumbles.

“Oh. You didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah. He – he was really apologetic. He said that he’s thought about it a lot in the past few weeks. And he said he just can’t ever see wanting to be with me.”

Harry slides his computer off his lap and moves to get in bed with Liam.

“No, I’m fine, Harry.” He sits up and starts undressing, getting ready to go to sleep.

“You sure? Did you want to talk it out more?” Harry sits back on his own bed tentatively.

“I kind of want to forget about it. I just feel really dumb, asking him again, but I’d figured since things worked out with you and Louis maybe I had a chance, too…”

Harry can’t help but feel a little guilty even though he knows that it’s not his fault. It’s no one’s, really. “If you need help moving on, or anything, you know we’ll all be here.”

“Thanks.” Liam climbs underneath his comforter and Harry does the same.

They settle into silence and Harry scrolls through Facebook some more. He finds a Manchester University online newspaper article. It’s written by one of the student gossip columnists. He doesn’t usually click on them, but this one’s about the football team.

“I’m just – I shouldn’t feel this torn, right, Harry?” Liam continues.

“You can feel however you want to as long as you respect him,” Harry offers as he reads the article.

_Manchester University to Manchester United? Our Graduating Footie Players._

“He said he’s totally straight. He doesn’t like men.”

“I’m sorry, Liam. If it helps, that’s the kind of rejection I prefer, when they’re nice about it.” Harry’s eyes scroll the article until they hit upon Louis’ name and picture.

_Louis Tomlinson – He’s 20, from Doncaster, and Has It All!_

Harry has to roll his eyes at that. He bets that the article was written by a fresher, not to disparage himself. It goes into Louis’ talent on the field, mentions how he’s been scoped out by scouts already, and how “his personality rivals his footie playing when he hosts an on-campus weekly karaoke night.”

“Dunno about that. I don’t like it. Makes it feel like there’s something wrong with me. Like I don’t know who to be attracted to.”

Harry frowns as he scrolls further down the page and is met with pictures of Eleanor and Zayn on the sidelines of that game where she made her first appearance. “You can’t help that, Liam. You can move on, but I’d do it without putting yourself down.”

_He’s even got a gorgeous girlfriend!_

Harry can’t help but wonder why these girls care about who Louis’ seen with. He’s a football player, and this article is about him and his teammates, so why do they delve into irrelevant territory?

…Don’t they see that they’re making Louis’ life more difficult?

Liam sighs loudly. “You’re probably right. Thanks, mate.”

“No problem. Get some rest, Liam.”

_The perfect life on and off the pitch. We’re all cheering for you during recruitment, Louis!_

Harry shuts his laptop quickly and slides it onto his nightstand. He resolves not to read stupid school gossip articles again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :-)


	10. Hold Each Other Close the Whole Night Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord, this is a long one. Hopefully that makes up for the wait - thankfully my online course is over now and I can spend all my time on this project. (And I really jumped on the chance to elaborate on Louis' relationship with his coach and teammates when I could. I've felt that the team and that part of his life had been neglected, so hopefully it's developed more here.)

It’s not so bad. Really, it isn’t. In his day to day school life, Louis’ situation doesn’t affect Harry, or Louis, for that matter, to a greater degree than it did when they started dating. He only sees Eleanor occasionally across campus, and they don’t acknowledge each other at all. The worst parts are the football games, of course, where sitting with Chelsea and Taylor, away from the sidelines, has become par for the course.

Harry’s starting to think some people think he that and Taylor are an item, actually. It frustrates him to no end, because they haven’t spent time together one on one since they first met up for coffee. They’re always talking before or after lecture or with the rest of their friends.

“It’s why,” Harry says, discussing his annoyance in Niall’s room, “I started rattling off about heteronormativity today.”

Niall stares at him through his mirror as he adjusts the cuff of his polo. He’s about to head out to dinner with Chelsea, and Harry is expressly _not invited_. “I know what that means. But, you know, include the definition anyway. For posterity’s sake.”

Harry kicks his feet up on the bed. “Seen with a girl and I’m shagging her. Seen with a lad and we’re just mates. People can’t see past their little bubble of heterosexuality, is what I’m saying. So I brought it up in class today, when it was semi-relevant, hoping to get people to at least think a little.”

Niall turns around. “Yeah, but people might’ve been thinking you and Lou were a thing. Even though you’re two lads.”

Harry throws a pillow at Niall. “That’s because we touched all the time. And looked at each other all doe-eyed. Because even though we tried not to, we looked like a couple. And that’s what people should be basing their judgments off of.”

Niall stands thoughtfully for a moment then picks the pillow up and sets it at the foot of the bed. “Okay, I get you. They’re seeing what they want to see. I mean, you and Taylor would make a good-looking couple.”

Harry pulls a disgusted face and Niall is quick to add, “If you were into girls. Almost as good as me and Chelsea.” He puffs with pride.

Harry rolls his eyes. “You go then, go see your girlfriend.”

Niall grins and grabs his keys. “That, I am going to. Now get out!”

Harry passes the rest of the evening in his room with Liam, studying off and on and playing FIFA in between. He wanted to see Louis ( _so very badly_ ), but he had a late night practice for their big game in Exeter on Saturday.

“Aren’t, like, a bunch of people taking buses down for that?” Liam asks as he handles the controller.

“Yeah…” Harry mumbles. “I figured it’s better I don’t go, though. Y’know…”

“Is she going, then?”

Ever since getting turned down by Zayn, Liam has become increasingly blunt. Harry can’t help but appreciate it. Niall sugarcoats the situation, Zayn tiptoes around it, and, well, Louis has his own stake in it, so when they discuss it it’s more logistics than anything. But Liam says it like it is, and for that, Harry is grateful.

“Yep.”

“Are they gonna share a room?”

Harry’s stomach churns. Okay, maybe _that_ was out of line.

“For fuck’s sake, no. It’s not like he’s trying to fool his teammates. She’ll probably just be next door or whatever.”

“Sorry. Just checking. There are celebrities whose whole marriages are a bearding thing, you know?”

Harry leans across the floor and smacks Liam on the head. “Louis is not a celebrity.”

Liam balances the controller on his knee while he rubs the back of his head pointedly with his free hand. “I know that, mate. I didn’t say that he was going to marry her.”

Harry takes advantage of Liam’s inattention to the screen as he scores a winning goal.

Just as Liam’s about to tackle him to the floor, someone bangs on the door and he has to get up to answer it.

Niall comes strolling in, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Harry and Liam pull faces of their own.

“Someone got laid,” Harry says pointedly.

Niall falls onto Harry’s bed. “And it was _good_.”

“Spare me the details, please.”

“Oh, and she mentioned this to me at dinner, that a bunch of students are headed to the Exeter game this weekend. Some professors are letting them miss lecture to bus down early tomorrow and everything. You going?”

Harry groans. “Liam and I literally just went over this, and it somehow ended with Louis marrying a woman. So the answer is no, I am not going.”

“But, like. Lots of people are going. It wouldn’t be weird for you to, or anything.”

Case in point.

“Conversation is over, Niall.” Liam looks pointedly at the boy sprawled out on the bed as backup for Harry.

Niall crosses his arms and huffs. “I tried. Harry, you have a text message.”

Harry makes a dive for his phone before Niall gets his hands on it.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Practice done. :) Can I come by?_

Harry sighs and can’t help but look up at his friends with a bit of a glare. “Cockblockers,” he mutters under his breath as he types out a reply. _Sorry._ _The lads are here._

“I was trying to help you get laid all weekend!” Niall exclaims indignantly.

_Louis the Tommo_

_No, I can’t stay for long anyway. :’( Just wanted to ask you something. I’ll be there in five. xx_

Harry sticks his phone in his pocket and passes the gaming controller to Niall’s grabby hands from the bed. “Louis’ll be here in a minute. He just wanted to stop by.”

When he knocks, Harry answers. “Hiiiii,” he drawls, leaning against the wall as Louis strolls in. Louis gives him a quick peck after he shuts the door.

“Hi Haz. Hello lads,” he greets Liam and Niall, watching their game as he leans against Harry’s bookshelf.

Harry sits on the side of his bed facing the closet and tugs Louis into his lap, wrapping his arms around him, kit still on and all.

“No funny business!” Niall shouts absentmindedly.

“No fucking,” Liam concurs.

Louis lets his head fall onto Harry’s shoulder. He’s sweaty, and his hair is still pulled back in a headband. Harry sniffs it anyway and is overwhelmed by footie player, 20-year-old man pheromones. “You smell nice.”

Louis makes a quiet gagging noise in Harry’s ear. “I need to shower, is what I need to do. But, my coach pulled us aside after practice, asked a favor, and I got an idea. It’ll be fun.” He’s practically bouncing now, and he slides to the left to face Harry.

“And…?”

Louis grabs Harry’s hands in his. “We need kit men. For the game, our usual blokes, one had to go home for the weekend and the other can’t miss his lectures tomorrow.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow. “Is that okay? Like, I can be there?”

Louis nods. “It’s fine. A bunch of students are going. And we need two, so bring someone.” He gestures his head toward the boys spread out on the floor. “Plus, you know. Eleanor’s coming, too.”

Harry grins and kisses Louis on the cheek, making him blush. He turns around. “Liam, fancy a trip down to Exeter? Or Niall, I guess, or both, but I figured you’d be busy…”

Louis snorts and ruffles Harry’s curls.

“I’m in!” Niall says, pumping his fist while still keeping control of his game.

“Liam?” Louis asks.

He pauses the game, much to Niall’s chagrin, and leans his head against his bedpost. “I think…think I might stay here.”

“Whyyy?” Niall whines, giving his knee a shove.

“Zayn’s not going,” Louis offers. “In case you didn’t want to see him much, or be stuck with him on the bus, or whatever.”

Liam shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to avoid him, actually. I have been, too much.” He picks at the carpet. “I’d rather make things right. Less awkward. You three go.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Liam. He’ll be happy to hear that.” Louis smiles at him and Liam returns it gratefully.

*

By noon the next day, Harry and Niall have made their way, duffel bags in tow, to the parking lot just off of campus. Niall’s bouncing at the prospect of getting out of his last two lectures of the week but Harry’s just happy to be getting away. He thinks some time away from school will do him good – it’s an isolating little bubble, university is, and he’s ended up off-campus and in Manchester proper far fewer times than he’d like to admit.

They find the bus with the team logo printed alongside it and head over there, finding the coach standing with his back against the door and a few team members littering the area.

“Styles, Horan!” he yells, and Harry is surprised to hear that he knows their names. “You’re my kit men?”

They nod and walk up to shake his hand. He gestures to the open luggage compartment at the bottom of the bus and they throw their bags in.

“You can head in now,” the coach calls to the team, beckoning them over.

“Just enjoying our freedom before we’re shut in for half the day, Matthews,” one of the players – Harry thinks his name might be Will, scoffs as he clambers into the bus.

“ _Coach_ Matthews.” He’s corrected with a slap on the back before he gets all the way in.

Another player approaches and turns to Harry, arm outstretched. “Don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Jude.” He shakes Niall’s hand as well and looks back to Harry, asking, “Where’s Tommo?”

Coach Matthews shoves him onto the bus and answers for Harry. “He’s with Eleanor. They’ll be here soon.”

Harry looks down and feels Niall straighten up beside him.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Jude spits sarcastically before taking a seat up front.

Harry and Niall clamber on as well, the coach following. He grabs Harry’s arm lightly and gestures for him to step back into the mini stairwell.

“Harry.”

“Um, sir?”

Louis did clear this with his coach, right? _Right_?

“Louis asked if you and a friend could come along with us.”

Okay. Harry nods.

“I’m fine with that, and we needed the extra hands anyway. But you have to understand that we’re in a…precarious situation. Things might get said or done and you can’t react. I’ve handled problems like this before, and it all turns out all right if everyone is on the same page and cooperative.”

_Problems_. Harry stiffens up, his arm still being held. “Well aware, yes.”

Coach Matthews nods briskly and lets Harry go. “Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

Harry walks down the aisle and finds Niall, sitting down in a huff.

“What’d he want?”

Harry picks at his nails. “Nothing.”

“Tommo!” Harry hears one of the boys yell. Sure enough, Louis is climbing onto the bus, clad in jeans, a jumper, and his signature dark blue beanie with Eleanor in tow. He sees his eyes scan, looking for Harry, and his face lights up when they land upon him.

Louis sits in the row in front of him and Harry gets up to sit with him.

“Hey!” Matthews calls from the front seat. “Wait on that, will you?”

“Come off it,” Louis shouts back.

“The school paper was outside, no? You can hold off ten minutes.”

Louis sighs and looks at Harry apologetically while Eleanor stands in the aisle impatiently. “Can I sit now?” she asks.

Harry nods sheepishly and goes back to Niall as Eleanor takes a seat beside Louis. Niall pats his knee. He lets his head fall against Niall’s shoulder as the bus shudders to a start. He can’t help but peer between the cracks in the seat as Eleanor takes out her phone, sends a few messages, and gestures to Louis for them to take a selfie. Louis grins into the front-facing camera.

They drive for ten, fifteen minutes before finally hitting the freeway. Louis sits up straighter in his seat and Harry can tell he’s glancing at the coach, who’s fallen asleep. He nudges Eleanor, and she grabs her bags and moves a few rows down and across.

Harry jumps up and slides into her spot. Niall looks up briefly from the game he’s playing on his phone and grumbles lightly.

Harry sinks his teeth lightly into Louis’ shoulder and bats his eyes at him. “Hey.”

Louis throws his head back and squeezes Harry’s thigh. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Harry threads his hand into Louis’. “It’s okay. Glad I’m here.” Louis smiles in return and Harry’s awkward, third-wheeling, and jealous feelings float away. The sun is looking him in the eye, and his blue eyes are piercing his soul. Louis darts in for a quick kiss.

Someone in front of them turns around – he’s another of Louis’ teammates. “You two are gross.” He pulls a face, then adds, “But cute.”

Louis beams and kicks his feet up to the mini footrest in front of him. “Have you met the team yet, Harry?”

“Just some of them.”

“Well, that’s Adam.” Louis indicates the boy who’d just spoken to them. Harry nods.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Harry,” Adam says warmly. “Too much,” he adds right before Louis leans over and whacks him up the head.

Harry stares Louis down until he shrugs and blushes in response. “They’re all cool,” he says. “Good lads.”

Harry lets himself fall into Louis’ side as the bus’s speed evens out. “Gonna sleep,” Louis says. “Practice on the pitch tonight, then tomorrow before the game.”

Even though Louis has the side of the vehicle on his right to lean against, he curls into Harry in return. Harry absentmindedly plays with Louis’ hands, running his thumb over each finger and nail. They’re soft, smaller than Harry’s, and so, so comforting to hold. He gives them a squeeze and Louis shifts in his newfound sleep and lets out a quiet whimper. It makes Harry smile. He lets his head rest up on the headrest – he was starting to cramp from leaning down on Louis – and as he glances to the right he catches Eleanor staring. She goes back to her phone quickly and on instinct, not acknowledging Harry.

He looks out the window now, beyond Louis, and catches a road sign directing an exit to Cheshire. He thinks of home and feels a passing pang of guilt. His mother has asked him to come home for a weekend every now and then, but Harry keeps finding excuses. He’d have to take a bus, or have someone drive up to fetch him, and although he knows they wouldn’t mind, he doesn’t really want to go. He’d always felt trapped in Holmes Chapel, especially in his last two years there, and is enjoying his newfound freedom.

Add those feelings onto the makeshift family that he’s created and latched onto quite quickly, and he’s found a home in Manchester. He looks back down at Louis, who’s eyelashes are fluttering softly, and knows that his home is not only in the city, but with these people. With him.

Harry is jolted awake two hours later when Niall shakes him. “Stopped for a break. Grab a bite?”

Harry looks down at Louis, who’s still asleep against him. He slips himself out of their embrace quickly and stands up, stretching his back out. Despite his efforts he’d ended up with his head nestled in Louis’ neck and he’s quite stiff.

“Does he wanna come?” Niall asks, indicating Louis.

Harry shakes his head.

“Let him sleep,” Eleanor butts in. “His practice went late.”

Niall gives her a dirty look that’s probably a bit more than unnecessary.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry says. “We saw him after.”

She nods shortly and steps ahead of them to exit the bus.

“What was that about?” Niall hisses in Harry’s ear.

“Dunno. But whatever.”

They walk into the travel plaza and find the food court. Niall grabs a KFC meal and Harry gets McDonald’s. They eat quickly, having to be back on the bus before two thirty. Harry makes sure to get Louis a large smoothie before they leave.

“He likes this stuff before games and practices,” Harry mumbles as he takes the drink off of the counter and shoves his wallet back in his jeans.

“I should start to learn that stuff,” Niall muses as they walk back into the sunlight and toward the bus. “You’re a good boyfriend.”

Harry grins. They climb back onto the bus and the light change is abrupt – Harry has to guide himself down the aisle with one hand on the seats while his eyes adjust. He comes upon Louis and slides into his seat carefully. Looking to his right, he sees that Louis is curled up, awake and scrolling through his phone.

“Got you something.” Harry hands him the drink.

Louis takes the Styrofoam cup and cracks the lid open, peering inside. “Berry.” He gives Harry a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Hazza.”

“Didn’t want you to starve.”

The bus is rolling again five minutes later after Jude and Will are chewed out by the coach for not getting on quick enough.

“Is he always this on edge?” Harry asks quietly.

Louis sucks on the straw loudly. “Not really, I don’t think. It’s just him, you get used to it after a while. He’s mostly worried about tomorrow, I think, not many people are really betting on us, and two other schools are playing on the spare pitch. Gonna be a lot of people.”

Harry tries very hard not to focus on the way Louis’ cheeks curve and cave in as he drinks the smoothie. He bites his lip and nods, not as focused on Louis’ words as he should be. “Yeah…you’ll be good. You’ll win.”

Louis laughs and sets his drink in the cup holder. He dips his head into the crook of Harry’s neck and whispers. “Don’t be jealous of a _straw_ , Harold, you’ll get yours later.”

Harry blushes but lets a small moan out regardless. He jumps up when he gets a whack on the head from behind.

“Don’t need to hear that!” Niall fake-screams. “Keep your dirty talk for after.”

Louis flips Niall off, cheerfully and innocently finishing his drink.

Another two hours later and the bus pulls up into one of Exeter’s carparks. Matthews stands up and commands the attention of everyone on board. “Okay. It’s four thirty and we have the pitch we’re playing on tomorrow from five to eight. After that you’re going to get a dinner break and then from nine thirty to ten thirty we’re going over strategy in the hotel. I will be personally checking each room at eleven to make sure that lights are out.”

Adam’s hand shoots up in front of Harry.

“Worthman?” Matthews calls on him with a sigh.

“We’re staying on campus? Or where. Sir.”

“There’s a hotel a few blocks down past the arena. You can grab takeaway and head there after we’re done playing. Right now we’re doing a photo op off the bus as we head into the locker rooms.” He pauses and scans the seats, seeming to look for the proper way to go about this. “Styles, Horan, you two off first. There are some bags marked for practice tonight, if you could grab them and head to the arena.”

Harry makes a subtle pouty face to Louis as he and Niall stand up, making to exit the bus. Niall steps out, but Matthews grabs Harry’s arm and speaks only to him again. “Just remember what I said, Styles, think before you act.”

“’M not an idiot,” Harry whispers, mostly to himself before stepping off the bus. He rubs his eyes and puts on his sunglasses, hearing Louis give a shout of protest before he turns to the luggage compartment.

There are a fair amount of photographers there, both for the university papers and a few sports stations; it’s the time of year when the general public starts showing an interest in uni football.

Harry and Niall pass the bag of footballs, the bag of cones, and all the other practice supplies to the players as they step off of the bus. Harry stretches and grabs his own duffel once everything’s emptied. Someone points them in the direction of the arena and they step to the side, waiting for everyone to de-board. Or, really, at this point it’s just Louis, Eleanor, and Matthews.

The coach steps off first, giving a wave to the shutters that capture his beaming face.

“Kinda weird,” Niall whispers to him. “Like paparazzi.”

Harry shrugs. “I guess. This isn’t that bad, though, comparatively. Liam showed me pictures of some of his worse mobs once. Those were downright scary.”

There’s only five or six people with cameras milling about, just enough for one from each uni playing this weekend and for a news outlet or two.

“He’s coming, just trying to get them out now,” Harry hears Matthews yell over the small din.

And then Louis and Eleanor step off, hand in hand. Eleanor is ruffling her hair and Louis’ collar is popped two buttons.

Niall snorts and squeezes an arm around Harry’s waist. “Dumb,” he whispers.

Louis poses for a few pictures, smiling with Eleanor still hanging off of his waist.

“They’re just gonna crop her out,” Niall adds.

“Yeah…” Harry trails. His usual pangs of irrational jealousy fall away as the cameras turn away from Louis and he drops Eleanor’s hand immediately, turning to his teammates and grabbing a bag from one of them. Eleanor’s attention shifts as well as she spots a few girls from Manchester getting off of another bus and goes to meet them.

Louis meets Harry’s eyes from a few meters away and gives him a tentative thumbs up. Harry returns the gesture.

*

Harry and Niall spend the evening setting up the changing room and watching practice. Manchester plays incredibly well, at least by Harry’s judgments, and he wishes they would stop stressing so hard. All Matthews pounds into them is how important this match, this season, is for the university’s football team as an institution, how they have three graduating students on the team, and how this weekend could make or break their chances professionally.

Niall points out that his intentions are in the right place and that he isn’t being much of an arsehole _per se_ , but Harry doesn’t see how verbally running them down to the point where another one of the third years, Mitchell, ends up vomiting by the bleachers does anyone any good.

At least Eleanor disappeared with some friends after fifteen minutes of sitting around on her phone.

Louis rings a local place to deliver a few pizzas for those of them who are staying in for dinner while they walk over to the hotel. As he’s collecting money from everyone, Jude asks, “Gonna shower before. Where are we gonna eat?”

“Um, just come by me and Harry’s room,” Louis answers absentmindedly and taking the notes.

“Styles and Horan are bunking together,” Matthews comments, a few paces ahead of the team. “I put you and Eleanor in a room.”

“What the fuck, David?”

Harry looks up from his phone to see Louis shooting daggers into his coach’s back and the rest of the team shifting around and rubbing the backs of their heads awkwardly.

“I wasn’t going to put extra money out for that, Tomlinson. Watch your tone.”

Louis shoves the money into his wallet, still fuming. “You could have told me that. You never said shit, ever, about me having to share a room with her. If _money_ is the problem I would have paid for another room.”

They come up on the hotel’s entrance, Matthews opening the door and avoiding eye contact with anyone as he lets them in. “You can’t afford a room here for two nights. It’s the logical thing to do, and we’re going to be logical here.”

Louis looks like he wants to protest more, but the lobby is milling with athletes, their families, and their classmates. “I’m not done talking about this,” he growls.

Harry is nothing but confused; he has so many questions that he doesn’t know where to start. It’s not that he minds sharing a room with Niall, because he doesn’t at all, but the tension surrounding his presence is so palpable that he’s left wondering why he was basically asked to come, let alone allowed.

Regardless, Harry and Niall are given a key to a room and they go in to unpack. They both stick their heads out of the door half an hour later to see if the pizza’s arrived and find Louis, freshly showered and clad in joggers, a tank, and, of all things, a pair of thin, rectangular, and black glasses, standing in the doorway across from them in the middle of a heated conversation with Matthews.

Harry’s about to shoo Niall back into their room and shut the door when Louis catches his eye. “Harry, Niall, I was just about to grab you two. Pizza’s here; come in.”

They shrug awkwardly and leave their room, with Matthews looking at them with the slightest hint of…Harry can’t quite put his finger on it. It isn’t quite derision or disdain, but he isn’t happy to see them, either.

The two first-years brush past Louis and Matthews, who have taken to simply staring each other down now, and find half of the team sprawled out over the floor and beds with Eleanor sitting in a chair, looking impatient.

Adam sits up to make room on one of the beds, gesturing for them to sit. As Harry starts to eat, he keeps watching by the door as Louis and Matthews begin wrapping their…argument, if it can be called that, up. They’re still speaking barely above a whisper, but Harry focuses and can just make their words out.

“If you have a solution that won’t cause a ruckus throughout the hotel, have at it Louis. I’ve told you before, I’ll tell you now, and I’m probably going to tell you countless times in the future – you may think otherwise, but I’m not out to make you miserable, or ruin your relationship, life, whatever. This is just how it was most convenient to set the weekend up. And that’s all I have to give you on the matter.”

He gives Louis a squeeze on the shoulder but Louis just wriggles his way out of it and comes back into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Oi!  You arses didn’t leave any pepperoni?” he barks playfully after lifting the lid of an empty pizza box.

Harry automatically offers him his slice that only has one bite taken. “I like cheese too.”

Louis laughs, but stares longingly at Harry’s offering. “You sure?”

Harry nods as Louis swaps slices with him and sits down, making the bed more crowded than ever. He kicks his feet up on Harry’s lap.

“Whipped,” Niall coughs under his breath.

Harry punches him.

Another cough comes from the other end of the room. “Do you know what I’m doing for the night?” Eleanor asks.

An awkward silence ensues until Louis pipes up, “You take this room, I’ll bunk with Niall and Harry.”

Everyone stares at him.

“You are not disrupting my sleep with your sex noises,” Niall deadpans unabashedly.

Louis lunges across Harry to trap his friend in a headlock, rubbing his fist into his hair. “Oh for God’s sake, Niall!”

“Gerroff!” Niall flails, empty pizza boxes flying and people sprawling out in laughter. Even Eleanor joins in.

Louis flips back to his original position, satisfied with having messed up and gotten pizza crumbs up in Niall’s hair. He goes back to the pizza he had set on the nightstand. “Relax. I’m trying to find an acceptable _sleeping_ arrangement, nothing more.”

Adam slings an arm around Niall. “How about this? Let’s just call up a rollaway, if you don’t mind, Niall, and you can crash with me ‘n Jude.”

Niall throws his own arm around Adam in return. “I like him,” he says pointedly to Louis. “No offense, you two, but I am going to take them up on that offer.”

Harry and Louis simultaneously sigh in relief, at which Niall makes a gagging noise.

Harry notices Eleanor starting to pick up around the room, sorting pizza boxes and grabbing cups and napkins off the floor. “Wait, Eleanor, this place is nasty. Niall and I didn’t mess up the room across the hall too badly, we’ll pack our stuff up there and you take that one.”

Louis nods absentmindedly. “Yeah, no, don’t worry, we’ll get this…” he adds through a bite of pizza.

“Well, thanks,” she says, throwing what’s in her hands into the bin and sitting back down.

Harry extricates from the pile of limbs he’s under and pulls Niall out of the room.

“Why now? There was pizza left…” he whines as Harry unlocks the door.

“Don’t wanna be rude to her,” he mumbles, starting to pack his things back into the duffel.

“She’s kinda weird. Shifty all the time, do you get that?”

Harry shrugs. “It’s a weird situation, especially after shit went down with Lou and his coach. Do you know what that was about?”

Niall shakes his head. “Haven’t a clue.”

Harry balls up one of his t-shirts with a little too much force and shoves it back into his bag.

It’s near ten thirty and Harry’s lying on one of the beds, stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt – he’d made a point to identify the bed with the least pizza crumbs in the sheets – waiting for Louis. Niall and Eleanor are both settled in their respective new rooms and Harry had cleaned most of the dinner mess up after the team went into their meeting. He’s watching a rerun of last year’s Downton Abbey now, and letting himself be immersed into the drama that results when the young and promising Sybil runs off with chauffer Tom.

“Honey, I’m home,” Louis jokes as he enters the room. He makes a face at the telly. “Period dramas, Harry?”

Harry flips it off, grinning. “It’s addictive, give it a go.” Louis’ still wearing the glasses and Harry really can’t get over how they suit him. “How come I’ve never seen you in those before?”

Louis shrugs. “I wore ‘em for a while. Mostly a pain, though, plus I can’t play in them.” He lies down on the bed, stretching himself across Harry’s legs.

“They’re hot,” Harry offers.

Louis smirks. “Maybe I’ll wear them more often.” He sits up and shimmies out of his clothes, save for his pants, and gets under the comforter with Harry. He takes the glasses off despite Harry’s pout and gives him a quick kiss. “Sorry.” He rubs Harry’s chest softly. “I really need to sleep. Tomorrow?”

Harry nods and flips the telly and lamp off. “’Course, Lou,” he says into the dark.

They curl into bed, legs interlocked. Harry breathes in and out, letting his ears relish the quiet for the first time today and his nose take in the scent of Louis lying barely inches away from him. He can’t help but feel how tense Louis is. He slowly drags a hand up into his hair and threads his fingers through it, ruffling softly. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’m no footballer, but you played fantastically earlier.”

Louis is quiet for a few moments but then leans closer into Harry so his mouth is almost by his ear. “This is just a really big game. It’s not even the quarters or the semis, but, like, it means a lot for image and stuff. We lost badly to Exeter last year. And Leeds is playing Sheffield here too, and we have to do better than them. For dignity.”

Harry rubs his fingers into Louis’ scalp.

“And I’m sorry for the mess today. I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about me, I just found it weird he expected you to share with Eleanor. You’re not a fucking celebrity, it’s not like the hotel staff is out to leak who’s staying with who.”

Louis sighs and bites down onto Harry’s collarbone gently. “I guess he just couldn’t have her stay with her friends because that would look off to them. And he didn’t think it would be a big deal or summat.”

Harry furrows his brow even though Louis can’t see in the dark. “Can I ask why he’s so into this? I mean, I know he brought it up in the first place. But he’s being a real hardarse about it.”

Louis breathes in and out, deeper this time, and rolls onto his back. Harry lets his hand fall out of his hair and rests it on Louis’ pillow. “I know…” He breathes again. “I know you two got off on a really bad footing. And I know he’s just really stressed today. But please, don’t judge him too harshly yet.”

Harry pauses for a moment. “Okay,” he says, unsure of what else to offer.

“My dad left when I was eighteen.” Louis just says it. Throws it into the wind, and Harry moves his arm from the pillow to around his shoulder.

“I…”

“It’s okay; you don’t have to say anything. He’s still around, mostly for my sisters. But he left, he’s the one who did. And he raised me, but he’s my stepdad. My mum changed my name when she married him. My bio dad left before I was one.”

Harry scoots in closer to Louis and holds him tighter. He knows that Louis doesn’t need condolences, or any sort of reassurance with this. He knows that he’s just trying to make him understand something with a bit more clarity. “My parents are split up too. I don’t see my dad all that often. And my mum was married again, though only for a year or two. I don’t remember. She’s with someone else now and I like him.”

He can feel Louis nod against his arm. “My mum said a few weeks ago that she’s seeing someone. I don’t know him, though.”

 They lay in silence for a few minutes and Harry presses his mouth to Louis’ temple.

“Um, anyway,” Louis breathes out. “I wasn’t trying to make you pity me. I’m not broken and I don’t sit around with daddy issues. I’m just trying to put things into perspective.”

“I know that.”

“David took me under his wing when I came to uni. He saw potential, I guess, which I didn’t actually deserve at the time. My tryout was shit.” He laughs, but it’s stilted. “He put me on the team, though, and sat me down to tell me what this could mean. That I was a good player, but if I worked hard enough I could become a great player. So I did, and now…this is what it is.”

“I get it,” Harry whispers.

“I came out to him a few months into my first year. I didn’t plan on it, but rumors of who I was hooking up with were getting around. And he was supportive, he told me I didn’t have to be ashamed of who I was, and Harry, that was so huge for me to hear, because no adult had told me that before. No adult in my life had known before, really, but regardless.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Then he told me that I had to make a decision, though. That I can be proud of who I am, but that football was an important part of me too. And if I exerted my everything into football, again, I could be great. He’s just trying to protect me now. He’s been around the block a bit, he knows how things go down in the professional clubs. He’s trying to prepare me for that here and he wants to make sure that I get signed. He cares, Harry, he does.”

Harry gives Louis another gentle squeeze. He doesn’t doubt anything that Louis’ saying, but all of this combined with the way Matthews, or David, had been acting earlier is still a bit much for him to wrap his head around. “Is he okay with me?” Harry finally asks, barely audible, but he doesn’t get an answer. He focuses on Louis’ face until his features come into focus through the dark and he sees that his boyfriend has fallen asleep in his arms. Thankfully, his face is calm.

*

Saturday morning passes quietly – Harry blinks awake a little as Louis slips out for pre-game warm-ups and a last-minute strategy session, but he and Niall lie around in his room until they have to be in the changing rooms at eleven thirty for the one o’clock game. The crowds have started slowly filing into the arena as they cross to the locker rooms and they spot a few reporters setting up cameras as well.

“Was he any less nervous this morning?” Niall whispers anxiously to Harry as they duck into a tunnel at the end of the arena.

“I was kind of half asleep,” Harry admits. He scans the plates on the doors, looking for the one temporarily marked “Univ. of Man.” “I think he’s okay, though. He seemed to sleep well.”

Niall pushes the door to the proper room – or set of rooms, that is – open and they get to work sorting the kits out and doing small odd jobs here and there such as filling the water coolers. “Slave labor,” Niall mutters, only half-joking, as he hauls a full and heavy jug of water across the floor.

“We got a free trip out of it,” Harry counters, giving his friend a hand.

“Always the optimist.”

“I think that’s your job, mate,” Harry replies with a wink.

They sit back on a bench to admire their handiwork – the room really does look quite nice – just as the footballers bound in to change for their game and sully it up. Louis shoots Harry a grin as he leads the team in. The room is full of chatter and pre-game adrenaline and, thankfully, Louis’ greeting to Harry seems to be reflective of the mood that everyone else is in.

Louis plops down next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Didn’t properly say good morning, really.”

Harry smiles and nuzzles his nose into Louis’ hair. “Good morning. Everything set?”

Louis nods and stands to change. Niall pointedly averts his eyes, coughing loudly.

“Come off it, Nialler,” Louis snorts as he throws his t-shirt aside. “You’re in a room full of footballers, you’re bound to catch a glimpse of some goods. Might as well be mine.”

“Heyyy,” Harry protests, giving Louis’ arse a quick squeeze before anyone else can notice.

“It’s different!” Niall insists, pulling Jude in to engage him in conversation.

Louis laughs along with Harry as he pulls his kit from the rack and yanks his jersey on. He steps out of his joggers and waggles his eyebrows at Harry. “Oh, Kit Man Styles,” he teases. “Can’t put my shorts on.”

Harry rolls his eyes and yanks Louis closer to him. He smirks at the laughter erupting from most of the team and ignores the uncomfortable murmurs emanating from the rest. He grabs the shorts out of Louis’ hand and stretches them out, giving Louis an expectant look as he waits for him to step into them.

“It’s hot in here,” Louis complains loudly as he rests his hands on Harry’s shoulders and steps in.

“Louis, stop thinking you’re hot all the time,” one of the defenders, Will, calls from the other end of the room.

“I’m hot, I know, and so is Harry, my boyfriend,” Louis snaps, winking down at Harry. He blushes and snaps the band low on Louis’ hip with enough force so that it echoes a little and he knows that it must sting.

Louis rubs his hips, wincing and giving Harry a playfully sad puppy face.

Adam whistles lowly and Louis flips him off, just about to offer another retort as Matthews pokes his head in and yells for the team to hurry up.

The clock ticks to fifteen to one and everyone is nearly ready. Harry and Niall are still lounging on the benches, futzing around on their phones and waiting for the team to file out so they can go stand on the sidelines as well. Louis bends down, next to Harry, and ties the laces on his cleats up.

“All right!” he announces, putting a palm on Harry’s head for balance as he stands on the bench, ruffling his curls in the process. “Pep talk!” He whistles through his fingers, drawing the attention of all the athletes.

Harry looks up. “Should we head out?”

“No, I need you for balance,” Louis says with a wink and a pat on the head.

Harry settles back into Louis’ hand as he psyches his team up. They can do it, they’re prepared, they’ve beat Exeter in the past. He gives individual shout-outs to some players and an overall strategy reminder before they go in for a huddle and break. Louis jumps down from the bench and leads the team out into the arena while Harry and Niall slowly file out after them.

Harry has never really seen Louis in his full-on “captain” role before. He’s usually giggly, spontaneous, playful, and loud. He’s loud now, too, but…it’s different. It’s hot, Harry admits to himself, and he really likes it.

They step out into the open air of the arena and amble over to Manchester’s portion of the sidelines, taking a seat by the water pitcher as the teams stretch out on the field. The weather is cold, of course, and cloudy, but there’s no rain in sight. The sun is feebly shining through the grey clouds making for a few shadows bouncing around the pitch. Harry pulls his navy blue windbreaker closer and zips it up. He’s a bit chilly, but hopes that once they get up and running around the players won’t be distracted by the temperature.

He hears Matthews guffaw loudly to his left, and turns to see what the fuss is about. _Oh_. He’s in the midst of an animated conversation with Eleanor, who’s seated in the front row with some friends and her face painted with Manchester colors. If he’s a father to Louis, Harry supposes, he has to be getting on well with his daughter-in-law.

Niall nudges him and jerks his head toward the field. “This is what we’re here for,” he murmurs.

Harry nods. “Thanks mate.”

The teams are positioned, now, and out of the corner of his eye Harry sees Matthews detach himself from the stands and step to the white line marking the boundaries of the pitch. Louis crosses forward to centerfield with the referee and captain from Exeter, shaking each of their hands before the coin is flipped and he calls tails.

Tails it is, and Louis backs up a few steps as the ball is set up. The whistle blows, and the game is on.

Five minutes in and Harry can see why the team was such a wreck – Exeter is good. They’re great, even. In most of the games that Harry’s seen Manchester has usually kept the ball under solid control, or at least kept up their defense.

He and Niall are gripping each other as the control of the ball bounces from team to team, with it first looking like a goal is right in Exeter’s hands until Will takes a chance dive and saves it. Not five minutes later Louis nearly scores when a member of Exeter’s defense slides in underneath him, toppling him over and making him slide a good meter. Harry has to do a double take – it almost look like Louis had his ankle grabbed by the defender.

Harry and Niall jump up from their seat, screaming foul. Harry nervously looks to his left to see if he’s earned a glare from Matthews but he’s just as infuriated. He’s roped into an argument with the referee and Exeter’s coach and turns to gesture to Harry and Niall when Louis doesn’t get up right away. “See if he can play.”

The two jog down the sideline, calling to grab the attention of the players surrounding Louis.

“He okay?” Niall hollers. “Do you need summat to get him off?”

“I’m fine, bugger off everyone,” Louis snaps as he grabs one of his teammate’s hands and stands carefully, stretching and testing his ankle out. “I want a bloody penalty shot, though,” he mutters under his breath. The crease in Harry’s brow relaxes a bit when Louis catches his eye and shoots him another thumbs up, and he returns it quickly. He can’t help but notice the worried look Eleanor is still shooting him from the stands, though, as they pull back from the pitch, and the soft and friendly wave Louis shoots back to her.

He gets the penalty shot, thankfully, and scores. Those in the stands for Manchester go crazy, cheering and screaming. Harry and Niall launch into a victory jump, pumping their arms and dancing around in celebration. Their antics garner them laughs from the team and even a chuckle from Matthews. This time, Harry doesn’t even think to look back at Eleanor.

The game turns around from there. It’s still tough, but the one point advantage was what Manchester needed to lift their spirits and gain more of a lead. Harry doesn’t sit for the rest of the match, him and Niall running up and down the sidelines cheering the team on. Matthews will occasionally shoot them a sarcastic look, but Harry can tell it’s more of a “Really boys, really? Keep yourselves together,” more than anything personal.

The last five minutes of the game slide by easily as Manchester has a 5-3 lead on Exeter. The finals whistle blows and although the boos and jeers from the home team’s fans are clearly audible the cheers and reactions emanating from those hailing from Manchester nearly drown them out. Everyone goes insane – the players scream and dash together into a group huddle, Matthews running to join them, and Harry and Niall grab each other’s hands and loop around in a circle. They collapse onto the bench and giggle like schoolchildren. They hop up again as Louis jogs over to them, grinning wildly.

He pulls Niall into a brotherly hug and thumps him on the back and turns to Harry, smiling even bigger. “Thanks, Haz, for being here,” he whispers into his ear as he hugs him as well, this time digging his thumb into the small of his back in a much more intimate gesture than he had given Niall.

“You did fantastic,” Harry breathes as Louis pulls away. He shoots Harry a wink and squeezes his shoulder almost apologetically, his expression changing quickly, before he steps onto the bench and draws Eleanor into a quick kiss. Harry looks away hastily.

Louis jumps back down. “Right.” He nods toward the entrance to the changing rooms, face blank and emotionless, and Harry and Niall follow.

*

Everyone heads to the pub for a celebratory night out later and the teams are mingling and laughing with each other. Well, except for Leeds and Manchester – Harry easily picks up on the rivalry that Louis had mentioned earlier. None of the players from either school really interact together except for the obligatory greeting.

Harry’s having fun, but he’s also steering far clear from Louis when he can help it. He’s with Eleanor, of course, and will occasionally sidle into a group that Harry’s with for a dance or two, but it’s easier if Harry just stays with Niall and some of the players that he gets on fairly well with. The club is loud, music thumping, and it quickly grows sweaty with all of the athletes – some of whom have yet to shower, disgustingly enough – and bodies pressed together.

He dances with a few girls but loses interest quickly. He slides out of the dance floor and steps over to the bar to grab another drink. As he’s about to order, maybe a shot or something to take him out further, Louis swivels onto the stool beside him. Harry tells the bartender to hold on for a moment and move onto the person next to him and turns to give Louis a questioning look.

Louis simply purses his lips and cocks his eyebrows up. He slips his phone out of his pocket and starts texting.

Harry’s confused. He isn’t sober enough to think straight to try and decipher whatever plot of Louis’ this might be right now. And then his phone buzzes.

_Louis the Tommo_

_I have to piss._

Harry snorts loudly and drops his head to the bar. He gets another text.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Well? Do you?_

“I don’t….understand…” Harry slurs, still laughing. Louis refuses to answer him and simply stares at Harry’s phone. Harry rolls his eyes and types out a response to the boy sitting right next to him. _Don’t get u_.

Louis rolls his eyes and sends another message.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Whatever Curly. I am heading to the single-stall toilet. Right now. Down the hall. To the left. For your information._

_Oh_. Harry gets him now. He nods frantically and keeps eye contact with Louis as he gets up and heads to the toilet.

The bartender comes back and asks if Harry wants a drink after all but he just asks for a glass of water, which he downs before he heads off to find Louis.

He finds the toilet probably five minutes later than he should, considering how small the pub really is, but the place is crowded and he’s not at his clearest levels of thinking. He tries the door but it’s locked. He knocks, and Louis’ voice answers.

“Occupied.”

“Lou!” he hisses, knocking again.

“What’s the password?” Louis asks in a sing-song voice.

Harry huffs loudly. “I don’t have one, now let me in.”

Louis clucks his tongue and cracks the door open. He’s drying his hands with a paper towel and Harry gives him a look for it.

“I did have to wee, you know,” he says.

Harry locks the door behind him and lunges forward, pushing Louis against the wall opposite the toilet. He goes right in for a kiss and Louis’ hands plant themselves firmly on his waist.

“Wanted to get my hands on you,” Louis breathes in between kisses, “All night. Torture out there.” He’s already breathing heavily, looking up at Harry through hooded eyelids. He lets his hands run up and down Harry’s sides, rucking up his tight fitting, blood red scoop-neck shirt in the same rhythm.

“You’re telling me,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ neck as he nips at it.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, dropping his hands to squeeze Harry’s arse. His hips react instantly to the contact and he grinds against Louis, biting harder at his collarbones.

“Don’t apologize,” Harry insists, pressing a kiss to the newly-formed bruise. His hands slide along the waistband of Louis’ skinnies and he thumbs at the button, bringing his head up to look Louis in the eyes for permission.

Louis licks his lips and nods, bucking forward and squeezing Harry again.

“Gonna suck you off,” Harry declares, growling, as he drops to his knees slowly, keeping eye contact with Louis all the time.

Louis whimpers and tilts his head back against the wall. Harry palms at Louis’ dick beneath his jeans and feels how hard he already is. He leans forward to mouth against the denim, breathing hotly and still looking right at his boyfriend.

“Harry…get on with it…” Louis mutters, barely coherent.

Harry smirks and continues to mime sucking motions through Louis’ clothing, pressing at his thighs with his hands.

“Someone’s gonna want the room,” Louis insists, threading his fingers through Harry’s curls.

“Fiiiiine,” Harry breathes out, unbuttoning Louis’ jeans and pushing them down below his knees. His pants follow suit and Harry makes a show of licking the palm of his hand before taking Louis in his grasp. Both let out light and gritty moans as Harry pumps slowly before bringing the head of Louis’ cock to his lips, kissing it lightly and smearing his tongue across it.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis mutters, yanking lightly on the curls.

“Mmmmm,” Harry moans as he sucks more of Louis into his mouth and lets his hand slide back to the base and stay there.

Harry works into a rhythm, pumping and twisting and sucking, pressing hard into Louis’ thigh with his free hand, digging in with his fingers so he knows that there’ll be a bruise there when he’s finished. His knees start to throb a bit but he pushes on, only focusing on how full his mouth is of Louis and how deliciously sharp the yanks on his curls are becoming.

He feels Louis tense up as he edges him closer to the edge and his moans become less deep and more airy as he whimpers in between.

And then, as Harry starts to go deeper than ever, letting his pumping hand fall to his side, there comes a knock on the door. “Been waiting.”

Harry jumps back as Louis gasps. “Who’s it?” he croaks.

“Louis? It’s Jack. C’mon now.”

Harry breathes a sigh of relief that it’s only a teammate, and not someone more incriminating – oh, God, what would have happened if someone from Leeds had come upon them? – and starts to stand up.

Louis whines lowly, running his hands through his hair, clearly thinking wildly. He makes a loud and fast retching noise. “Not feeling well. Come back in five.”

“Why do you fucking drink so much?” Jack mutters as Harry hears his footsteps putter away.

“Shit,” Louis curses. He pulls his pants and jeans back up, still partially hard.

Harry waggles his eyebrows, brushing a kiss to Louis’ mouth. He can feel Louis fight back a moan.

“Okay, so I’m going to poke my head out,” Louis says, heading to the door. “If it’s clear, or super crowded, we can just step out now. If not I’ll go and text you in a few minutes to follow.”

Harry nods, leaning up against the wall where Louis was and adjusting himself in his jeans. Louis notices through the mirror while he adjusts his hair. “Can we leave?” he asks.

“To the hotel?” Harry smooths his shirt out.

“Yeah.”

“People will notice we’re going together.”

Louis shrugs and moves toward the door again. “It’s barely past midnight, Haz. No one’s leaving yet, just shoot Niall a text so he doesn’t drive himself nuts looking for you, I’ll call a cab.”

Harry nods. He really wants to get off now, and has no patience for another few hours out in the dense heat and sardine tin-nature of the pub.

Louis turns and cracks the door open, beckoning Harry over to him. They tiptoe out quietly.

Neither boy can keep their hands off of each other on the cab ride back to the hotel and both are fully hard again as the leap out of the car. Harry is also far more sober now than he was going into the toilet, he realizes as Louis pays the driver with an extra tip for his troubles. He mentions as much to him as they enter the lobby, which is empty save for a few guests who clearly aren’t associated with the sports weekend at all.

“Wanna fix that?” Louis asks, nodding his head toward the hotel bar and stopping before the lift.

“No,” Harry says, hitting the up button. They enter, and as the door closes he pulls Louis in and whispers into his ear, “I prefer fucking sober.” He traces Louis’ arm lightly with the pads of his fingers. “Everything feels…clearer. And more intense.”

Louis gulps, his eyes glazed over. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that.”

They get off on the fifth floor and Louis fumbles for the key while Harry palms at his arse. He finds it, and once the door is unlocked and opened Harry basically pushes them into the room. He shuts the door behind them, locking it and already kicking his shoes off. Louis does the same as he hurries over to their bed and jumps on it. Harry follows and starts to crawl up on Louis before he wriggles out from under him and steps onto the floor again.

Harry sprawls out on his back and whines. “Come back, Lou, what’re you doing?”

Louis shuffles through his suitcase. “Getting stuff.” He gets back on the bed with a travel-size bottle of lube and a condom. “Get naked, Harry,” he demands bluntly.

Harry bites at the side of his index finger, turning it white. “Only if you do, too.”

Louis drops the supplies without hesitation and whips his shirt off while Harry follows suit. They’re both completely naked within a minute. Harry makes a move to grab the lube but Louis swats his hand away. “No. I’m gonna try this.” He grabs the bottle and gives Harry a gentle shove onto the pillows, and then is quick to add, “If you want that. Tell me.”

Harry bites his lip and tries not to moan too loudly. He is trying to retain some dignity, after all. It isn’t like he’s been wanting Louis, in any way, shape, or form, all weekend long and no, he didn’t nearly die after they were interrupted in the pub toilet. It hasn’t been like that _at all_.

“ _Yes_.” He ruts down into the sheets, legs splayed out. “Fuck me.” He was never one for subtlety anyway.

Louis crawls over him, dropping light kisses on his mouth, neck, and collarbones, working his way down to his chest. He presses his lips to one of Harry’s nipples, flitting his tongue over the tight but flushed nub a biting just a bit, as if to test the waters. Harry grips Louis’ head as he moans.

“Like that?” Louis asks as he runs his tongue and teeth over the other nipple and massages the two extra with his thumbs, adding a quick pinch in at the end.

Harry just bites his lip and nods. Louis runs a hand under Harry’s right arm, finding the outline of the star again. He leans up and presses his mouth to it, pulling at the skin inside with his teeth.

“Do you like _that_?” Louis asks again, lower this time, as he continues to kiss and nibble at the no longer-pale skin inside Harry’s tattoo.

“ _Yes_ ,” he repeats.

Louis pulls back and smirks. “We can have fun with this,” he murmurs, running his fingers up and down Harry’s just-visible abs. Harry’s hand finds his own dick, pumping himself slowly as he lets out a groan. Louis’ eyes drop and he becomes hesitant for a moment.

“Harry…”

“Mmm?” Harry’s eyes close slowly as he relishes having Louis straddle him as he jacks himself off.

“Look at me.”

He opens his eyes and lets his hand fall away regretfully when he notices the slightly embarrassed look on Louis’ face. “What’s wrong?” he slurs, voice thick with arousal as he squeezes Louis’ thigh comfortingly.

“Just remember, this is another first for me…” he mumbles, still running his hands across Harry’s torso.

“Yeah, of course Lou. Stop when you want. Or just ask me, I’ll be happy to tell you what to do.” Harry winks and elicits a laugh out of Louis, which makes him puff with pride.

“Right. Of course.” Louis leans down and kisses Harry, sliding their tongues together as their dicks do the same.

He stays there for a few moments before he sits up suddenly. “That won’t last long.” He grabs the lube again and flips it open, squeezing some over his right hand’s fingers. Harry spreads his legs at Louis’ prodding and whimpers as he presses his index finger to his hole.

“Did that hurt?” Louis looks up, concerned.

“No.” Harry moans. “Felt good. Just cold.”

“Okay.” Louis licks his lips and presses his finger in gently and tentatively, watching Harry’s face all the while.

Harry throws his head back as Louis’ finger slowly slides in. “Add another,” he breathes. “Just. Get on with it. Want you in me.”

“Fuck,” Louis stutters as he slips a second finger in and pumps them in and out slowly. “Is this good?”

Harry nods, sweat beading at his temples from the intensity of the pleasure. He grinds down on Louis’ fingers, trying to set a faster pace. “Really good, Lou, fuck, keep going.”

“You look so wrecked,” Louis whispers. “D’you want a third?”

“ _Yes_.” Harry groans loudly as he fills up further. “I _feel_ wrecked, Louis.”

Louis pushes his lips into a smirk. “Good. How do I…?” Harry feels his fingers twist a bit inside of him and he knows what Louis’ looking for.

“I…” his breath hitches as Louis pushes in further. “Try up a little.”

And _there_. Harry’s moan escapes him, the loudest yet, as Louis’ fingers brush his prostate and jolts of pleasure shoot through his body. He grinds against Louis’ hand harder as he chokes out, “I’m ready, please, come on.”

Louis lets out a nervous chuckles as he pulls his fingers away and wipes them on the sheet. “I feel bad for the cleaning staff,” he mutters.

“You probably don’t want to know what they’ve seen that’s worse,” Harry responds, flinging his arm across his forehead. “Who’s next door?” He jerks his head to the wall against the headboard.

“Niall. Adam and Jude.”

Harry laughs. Of course it would be the people who will give them the most shit for it tomorrow.

“Don’t make me think about them right now,” Louis retorts, ripping the condom open and sliding it up his cock. He squeezes more lube onto his hands and slicks himself up, leaning over Harry. He lifts Harry’s arm from his head and kisses his nose. Harry smiles. “Want me to fuck you like this?” he whispers lowly, voice deep with lust and need.

Harry bites his lip again. “Yeah. Gonna watch you pound into me.”

Louis’ eyes go dark. He scoots back and lifts Harry’s long legs onto his shoulders, leaning forward and lining his cock up with Harry’s hole. Harry’s legs burn, but he loves it. He grips the sheets with his right hand and the nightstand with his left.

“You ready?”

Harry nods. “Please, get on with it.”

Louis pushes in slowly and moans loudly, dropping his hands to either side of Harry’s head.

Harry breathes heavily, trying to keep himself relaxed. It’s been a while for him, but Louis has warmed him up _more_ than enough and he’s so ready and so on edge that he can barely lie still for Louis’ sake.

Louis nudges his face with his nose as he continues to push. “Need me to stop?”

“Nuh uh,” Harry mumbles as he mouths at Louis’ chin, whimpering with pleasure. “Keep going.”

Louis pants, bottoming out and biting Harry on the neck as he does so. Harry wants to crack a vampire joke but the pleasure that he’s getting from the bite is rendering him speechless. He moans and grabs one of Louis’ hands, guiding it to his hair. Louis moves up to bite at his earlobe, whispering, “You really like this.”

“I do,” Harry stutters back. He wraps his ankles around Louis’ waist and squeezes tightly. “Now start fucking me, please.” His cock has grown heavy and harder than ever between their stomachs and Harry isn’t sure how much longer he can last with the teasing. He wants to come, so badly, but he wants to do so while Louis is rocking in and out of him.

“Since you asked nicely,” Louis murmurs, pushing himself up a little. He starts slowly, rutting his hips and pumping in and out of Harry.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry hisses, returning the thrusts. Louis picks up the pace and Harry starts rocking gently into the headboard, making the bed creak.

“Fuck.” Louis thrusts again, now pounding at Harry just as he had asked earlier. He stretches Harry’s arm out and starts sucking deeper and darker bruises into the star.

“Louis,” Harry gasps, unable to form coherent thoughts. It’s been so long since he was fucked like this, utterly hammered and wrecked by someone who knows just what he wants and where he wants it. His mind consists of single-word sentences, just _Fuck_ and _Harder_ , _There_ and _Louis_. He can’t distinguish from what he thinks and what he says, and God knows how loud he’s saying it. His cock swells and Harry can feel the precome leaking out and slicking both of their abs up.

At some point Louis stops sucking on him and starts panting in his mouth, their lips making the motions of a kiss but barely touching, their tongues licking in and out of each other. “Hazza,” Louis whines, still thrusting harder than ever.

“Getting close,” Harry whispers directly into Louis’ mouth. He feels Louis’ hand move from his hair to between their stomachs and grasp Harry’s cock tightly. He gasps.

“Gonna come all over us?” Louis murmurs, starting to jack Harry off to the pace of their thrusts.

“Yeah,” Harry whines, arching his back and feeling the burst of pleasure build up in his lower body and threaten to boil over. Louis is quick, and the feeling of his breath in Harry’s mouth combined with the identical rhythm of the flick of his wrist and hips sends Harry hurtling over the edge, spilling onto Louis’ hand and their abdomens, groaning and shuddering against the pillow.

Louis keeps a hand pressed to Harry’s chest as he thrusts one, two, three more times before joining Harry in ecstasy. He drops down, their foreheads touching and slick with sweat. He whimpers as Harry lets his legs slide down and he pulls out slowly, pulling away only to slip the condom off and into the bedside bin.

He stays on top of Harry, peppering his face with butterfly kisses. Harry smiles lazily, snaking his arms up around Louis’ neck. “Lou…”

“Hazza.” He kisses Harry softly.

They lie like that for a few minutes until Harry shifts uncomfortably. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “’M really sticky.”

Louis laughs and rolls off and onto his back. Harry grabs a few tissues from the nightstand and tries to wipe his chest down. “Not working.” He pouts.

“We can shower in a minute,” Louis says, still breathing heavily and trying to calm himself down.

“Yeah, okay.” He tosses the tissues toward the bin but misses.

Louis slips a hand into Harry’s curls and tussles them up even more than they were before. “Harry.”

Harry angles his head so he can see Louis clearly. The lamplight is casting a glorious sheen on him, mixing with the copious amounts of sweat and traces of come as his chest goes up and down slowly, calm now. He looks like a god and Harry is, quite frankly, overwhelmed with fondness for him at the moment. “Mmm?”

“I liked that a lot.”

“Me too.” He smiles.

“We should do that again. Again again.” He winds his fingers deeper into Harry’s hair.

Harry nods against the tiny tugs and twists around to place a kiss to Louis’ wrist. “ _Yes_ ,” he hisses.

Later, after they shower, squeezing into the tiny hotel stall together and soaping the other up with giggles, Harry lies in the other, cleaner bed and scrolls through his Twitter feed while Louis brushes his teeth. He comes across a tweet that makes him snort so loudly that he bangs his head against the wall, eliciting a concerned Louis popping his head around the corner of the room with his eyebrows raised. Harry just shakes his head and shows him his phone screen. Louis squawks even louder than Harry’s head bang was and they both hear the eruption of laughter from next door.

_@NiallerH_

_Late nite in exeter, now no sleep, this hotel has paper walls ! Not good_

If they think that their embarrassment ends with Niall’s indirect tweet, both boys are sorely mistaken, as they discover when the bus starts up the next morning. Harry slides over to Louis when they get off of Exeter’s campus and gets several pointed coughs from Niall and the players. He sits up indignantly, giving everyone a look, and is confused for a moment. Then Niall looks him up and down pointedly and all of a sudden Harry _really_ wishes he had worn a long-sleeved jumper instead of the t-shirt he threw on before they left the hotel.

He’s covered in tiny bruises along his neck and collarbone, and his star is so dark that it looks nearly tattooed in. He pokes at it and winces a little, but shrugs it off, enjoying the physical reminder of the previous night. He crosses his arms defiantly and leans back in his seat with a smirk, watching Louis stutter with embarrassment to his teammates, trying to explain it away.

Eleanor looks over her magazine across from them and pretends to whisper as she says, “Could’ve lived without knowing what you sound like when you come, Louis,” and the bus erupts in laughter at the absurdity of the situation. Matthews’ eyes shoot open and he stands to glare at everyone. He’s ignored.


	11. Happy Time Together We've Been Spending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a disclaimer, I don't and am not claiming to own Strong or Happily or anything. Also, my chapter titles are all songs from Wouldn't It Be Nice by the Beach Boys, just as a reminder, which I also don't have any claim on.

The weekend away was exactly what Harry needed, not to mention the hotel sex. He’s more than ready to tackle the next month of lectures before Christmas holidays, and despite the fact that he’s still tired from Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, he powers through his classes on Monday. He finds out in the middle of the day that he has to get another essay reviewed at the writing center and dashes in after his last study session in the library, hoping to catch Zayn before his shift lets out.

He absentmindedly hands the girl at the front desk his ID card as he catches Zayn’s eye at his desk and waves at him. He heads right over to him, not bothering with waiting to be called.

Zayn scoffs as Harry sits down. “What, because you’re shagging my best mate you think you can skip the line?” he whispers playfully.

Harry pointedly stares at the empty seats by the door. “No line, Zayn. And aren’t we friends too?” He pouts and bats his lashes, bending down to grab the damned essay from his rucksack. “I thought this was good. Apparently it isn’t.”

Zayn grabs the paper and levels with Harry for a moment. “Of course we’re friends, mate, I’m kidding.” He winks and goes to read the essay.

Harry furrows his brow as Zayn makes a significantly higher amount of marks than he did the first time. He looks up at Harry when he’s done, after writing a few paragraphs on the back of the last page, and props his elbow on the table, hand cupping his chin. “When did you write this?”

Harry fiddles with his hands. “…Last night.”

“And you got it back today?”

Harry scratches his neck. “Well I took it into his office this morning, I don’t have this lecture today. He flipped through it…and told me to bring it back later. That I’d lose fewer points for turning it in a little late than I would giving it to him as it is.”

Zayn’s eyes flicker to the professor’s name on the cover page. “You’re lucky, Harry, Professor Smith is a good one. He obviously wants you to do well, so I suggest you take the revisions I noted seriously, and get it back to him before the end of the day tomorrow.”

Harry nods hesitantly. He knew the paper was all a bit shit, but he didn’t expect for his professor to tell him that he’d fail the assignment without a revision and he certainly didn’t expect Zayn to get all hard on him like this. “Had a busy weekend. I didn’t have time to write it before yesterday.” Harry tries to defend himself.

“Sure,” Zayn responds slowly. “Is this the only class you’re struggling in?”

“I’m not struggling in any!” Harry insists, pushing his chair back a little for emphasis. “I’m not, like, getting top marks, but I’m passing just fine.”

“But you’re incredibly smart from what I can tell,” Zayn continues, looking confused. “You shouldn’t be ‘passing just fine.’”

Harry crosses his legs and arms defiantly. “I’m just spending time on things other than school, is all.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows knowingly and Harry gives him a shove. “I get that, Harry. Just promise me that you’ll put more effort in from now until holiday, and then give exams your full attention.”

“You’re not my mother,” Harry scoffs, but with a joking tone.

“No, I’m not,” Zayn admits. “And I’m sorry if I’m overstepping…but don’t let Louis become your whole world, okay?”

“When did I ever say –”

“I’m not saying you did. But I’m just, you know, offering up some wisdom, from someone who’s been there, done that. It won’t do either of you any good in the end. And you’re a _good writer_. Use it, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Harry mutters, flipping through Zayn’s comments on his essay. He certainly has his work laid out for him.

Zayn looks up at the clock. “Want to head to the auditorium now?”

Harry gets up and they start out. The wind is blowing harder than usual and even in his coat and jumper Harry’s a bit chilly. Winter is right around the corner, with autumn fading away quickly. It’s not exactly Harry’s favorite time of year, especially considering how much he enjoys the colors and moderation of the previous season.

A few minutes into the walk across campus, Harry asks, “Um. So Liam, uh, mentioned something before we left Friday. Are you two okay? You don’t have to answer,” he hurriedly adds.

Zayn smiles as he grabs his beanie from his jacket pocket and pulls it over his head. “No. It’s fine. We’re good, actually. I took him out with some of my friends from the lab, you know, since you three were gone. It was a nice night.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Harry says lightly. He’s much more invested on the inside, though – he can only imagine how relieved Liam was at things being made right between the two.

And it shows, on his face, when they arrive at the auditorium to find him setting up with Louis. Liam pulls Zayn into a hug reminiscent of one Harry would give Niall, who comes bounding in moments behind them. He does just that.

“Chelsea’s coming tonight!” he announces, spinning around as if to show off his outfit. Louis gives him a once-over and an approving nod, causing Harry to pout as he leaps up on the stage to meet him.

“You look dashing too, of course.” Louis smiles as he tugs on the bottom of Harry’s jumper from underneath his coat. Harry grins and gives Louis a kiss.

“Oi!” Niall yelps, getting a hands up onto the stage from Liam. “You two are already gonna get it tonight, I’m the one you should be focusing on!”

Harry pulls back and rolls his eyes. “Please, Niall. You’ve been with her for, what? Two weeks now? Three? You’re getting laid on the regular, too.”

“But, like,” Niall insists, clearly more apprehensive than he first let on. “’M gonna ask her if she wants to, you know…”

Harry squints his eyes and stares at his friend. “I referred to her as your girlfriend last week. You didn’t correct me, so I assumed…”

“I haven’t had the guts to actually ask her yet!” he blurts out, busying himself with the microphone cords.

“Oh my god, Niall!” Louis squawks. He gives Harry a slap on the arse and moves to put the step stool away. “I pinned Harold down on the second date. Get the good ones before they’re snatched up.”

Harry’s mouth drops open into an “aww” shape without actually making any noise.

“What?” Louis snaps, dragging the ladder backstage.

Harry just grins goofily. “That was sweet.”

Louis shrugs, but a blush creeps up his cheeks. “I only speak the truth.”

Niall coughs loudly, breaking their lovers’ moment again. “You’re disgusting. Both of you. Anyway, you think it’s worth giving it a go?”

“Yes!” is the resounding chorus from the four others.

Niall waffles back and forth for the rest of the night, opting not to ask her right onstage as Liam tries to insist. He still dedicates the song he plays to her, though, which makes her grin and tear up in a way that makes Harry _want_ to want to vomit, but he can’t help but be endeared by it.

Taylor is there with her, too, but they arrive late enough that there’s no room for her to sit by him and Liam. It doesn’t bother him too much – he figures it was a matter of time before she shows up. By all the new faces that have been popping in and out throughout the past few weeks, Harry figures that nearly all of the university has been here at least once.

It’s progressed to even more of a live show than it was when they started in the theatre. Zayn still sits by the computer to control the sound board, but he barely touches the buttons for the karaoke screens anymore; most people come prepared with a specific song that they’ve rehearsed.

Harry’s still looking for the right song to spring on Louis.

As the students file out of the auditorium, Niall sits at the edge of the stage and pulls a corny move right out of Louis Tomlinson’s handbook, pantomiming yanking Chelsea into him from the front row and into a kiss. She giggles, and he whispers something into her ear to which she responds with an enthusiastic “Yes!” and kisses him again.

Harry laughs as he winds up the cords for the night and tucks them backstage. Louis sneaks up behind him and pretends to sob. “Our baby’s growing up!”

Liam joins in but gags himself with his fingers instead, eliciting a laugh from Zayn.

Taylor waves goodbye to Harry, dragging Chelsea with her.

Niall turns back to the four lads, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Well?” he asks, looking for approval.

“You did good, mate,” Louis declares, striding up to him and going in for a hug only to slap him on the arse.

“Oi!” Niall screeches for the second time that night. “That’s not your property anymore!”

“Was it ever?” Harry asks dryly. “You’re not seeing her tonight?”

“No,” Niall says, sitting down to pack his guitar up. “She has a party. Some girl’s thing.”

Louis lies down next to him and looks up at the stage lights. “Let’s stay here for a while. I have an essay to write and I don’t want to.”

“Harry does, too,” Zayn announces helpfully, but sits by the two boys anyway.

“I have time,” Harry insists. He drops down beside Louis and lays his head across his abs.

Liam joins, kicking his feet up against Zayn’s. “My label gave me a ring,” he says flatly.

“Gonna marry some old London businessman, then?” Louis asks with a smirk.

“Shove off.” Liam stretches a leg to kick him but hits Harry’s head instead.

“Fuck!” Harry jerks up and Louis follows, pulling his head in and rubbing it dramatically.

“You hurt my baby,” he pouts, flipping Liam off.

“That is a sickening display of affection,” Zayn declares. Harry supposes that this means they’ve truly made it, hit truly disturbing levels of PDA if Zayn, one of the most chill people Harry knows, feels the need to butt in. He grins against Louis’ chest.

“Only I am allowed to kick him in the head,” Louis insists. “And even then, that was on accident, the first time he was –”

Okay. This is too far. “Louis, _shut up_ ,” Harry groans into his chest. He shoves him back down playfully and goes back to his original position. “You really have no sense of what is sacred in this world.”

“That, I can agree with,” Zayn says, raising his hand into the air as if to toast Harry’s sentiment.

“Anyway,” Liam presses, continuing, “My label _called me._ They told me to start thinking about a second record.”

“Do you want that?” Niall asks.

“Dunno. I mean, they said it could be a year or two off, I could release it two summers from now.”

“How much would it cost to break your contract?” Zayn muses.

“Enough to ensure I don’t get work in the industry ever again. And…I don’t know if I really want to close that door for forever. So I figure maybe I’ll go with it for now. If I’m really against it when it gets closer, you know, I’ll think about it for real.”

“It sucks they can make you do that,” Louis states. “That they just hold all that power over you. I wouldn’t be able to deal with that.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees.

Harry shrugs. “I guess you manage. Right, Liam?”

“Yeah. You manage.”

“It’s the territory,” Niall throws in.

“What I’m getting at, I guess, is that they told me to start thinking about songwriting. They want me to do a bit on my own, put some stuff together, then they’ll run it by their professionals to clean it up.”

“Oh, that’s sick,” Zayn says, his tone perking up a little.

“Yeah, like at least the fun part gets to come in now. I was thinking, though, it’d probably be a lot more fun to give it a go with other people. So if any of you lot just wanted to, I don’t know, try it once or twice, we could have fun with that.”

Niall thumps his guitar case. “I might not be your best shot for lyrics. But give me some chords and I can start to strum out a tune.”

The other three boys sit up immediately, intrigued.

“I’d love to try my hand at songwriting,” Harry says. “I’ve played around with it before.”

Louis gives Niall a friendly shove. “Get your guitar back out, mate. No time like the present.”

“But your essays,” Zayn points out incredibly _unhelpfully_.

“Exactly. Fuck the essays!” Louis shouts cheerfully. “Make love to the songs!”

“Oh my god,” Harry laughs. “And I thought I was bad with jokes.”

“Two peas in a pod.” Louis grins and kisses Harry on the cheek.

“It’s not even a joke,” Zayn mutters bitterly. “It’s just dumbarse wordplay.”

“And wordplay is exactly what we need right now,” Louis chirps.

“How musically advanced are we all?” Liam asks. “You were in a band,” he says, nodding at Harry.

“Louis was, too,” Zayn offers. Louis growls as if the added information was unnecessary.

“You’ve never told me that!” Harry exclaims.

Louis brushes him off with a wave of his hand. “It wasn’t big. You talked about yours, and stuff, mine was never like that. I sang a little. We thought we were proper punk, ‘The Rogue,’ but we just played really minor stuff.”

“Still.” Harry squeezes Louis’ shoulder. “That’s cool. Which just emphasizes my point you should sing here some night. I’m still trying to find you a song.”

Louis sticks his tongue out. “You never will.”

Niall jumps in quickly to avoid another couple’s moment. “I have me guitar. I sing, almost auditioned for X Factor, but not as professional as those lovebirds.”

Zayn laughs loudly. “I almost did too. And Tommo. And you. And then Liam did. I actually almost went Liam’s year. Just couldn’t get out of bed at four in the morning.”

“And Harry!” Louis screeches.

They all sit in silence for a moment. “Well, isn’t that weird,” Harry laughs.

Liam shifts uncomfortably as well. “So we’re all musically experienced. Let’s give it a go, then.”

Niall gets his guitar back out and strums a few chords. He looks up at the rest of the boys expectantly. “Where are we gonna go from here?”

Liam bites his lip and starts tapping out a beat with his foot. “Not too fast.”

“But still, like, slow enough to be emotional,” Harry adds.

“Key?” Niall positions his fingers, ready for the musical command.

“Nothing too hard,” Zayn insists. “C major, A minor.”

“A minor,” Louis concurs. “So it’s not too basic. We can go further later.”

Niall starts strumming the chords and everyone gets lost in thought. Harry lets his eyes drift off toward the lights as he thinks. They’re bright, and Louis left them yellow for tonight. He laughs to himself as he realizes that Louis probably did that on purpose – it’s been raining off and on all day, it was incredibly windy as he and Zayn were coming in, and the temperature was dreadfully nippy. Louis brought a little sunshine into the theatre today, into their escape from the real world. From the place where, for the most part, the stupidity of the bearding and relationship drama can fall away for a few hours.

The sun, like Louis himself.

Harry breaks out of his reverie as Liam coughs. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Thinking. Genre?” Niall’s still strumming, testing out different chord combinations.

“Love,” Louis breathes, running his hands through Harry’s hair. Harry hums in appreciation.

“Should’ve known,” Zayn retorts.

“What? We need something we can all relate to, or it won’t work. Can we all relate to this?”

“Yes,” Niall says, smiling.

“Yes,” Liam agrees, and Harry can detect the faintest hint of wistfulness behind his voice.

He nods against Louis’ chest for his own answer, and Zayn sighs, saying, “Why are you always right?”

“Because I am.” Louis puffs. “Anyone have paper?”

“Hold on.” Harry gets up, pulling himself out of Louis’ grasp, and hops down to grab something out of his rucksack. He pulls out his leather-bound notebook with scribbles all around the cover. “It’s not a journal, or a diary,” he insists as he climbs back up. “It’s just my book. I write stuff in it sometimes, or I doodle. I figured out what I wanted for my tattoo by doodling in it.” He sees four faces looking back at him blankly, accepting, and a little confused as to why he jumped on the defensive immediately. “Sorry,” he adds. “I get weird about it. People would make fun of me at home.”

Louis’ lip curls down. “They’re dumb. It looks like a very nice book, Hazza. Now come write Liam his song with us inside of it.”

Harry nods, letting his curls flop in his face as he sits down by Louis again. He unties the leather ribbon wound around it and opens it to the newest clean page, bending the spine slowly. “I wrote lyrics in here sometimes too, it’s pretty old.”

“Things like that are important,” Zayn says, smiling at him.

“Thanks.”

They toss random words around for a while, trying to get a vibe out. “Run,” “Fire,” “Me,” “Sun,” “Happy,” “Shout,” “Want,” and “Strong” all make their way into a shortlist in Harry’s book. They give Liam a little more of a voice to the mood of the song, considering that he might be the one singing it someday.

“Gimme lines,” Niall grumbles from his guitar. “I can’t even think of a melody if you’re spitting out random words we say every day.”

Harry pauses, then scribbles a few lines in his book. He looks up to find eight eyes on him, staring expectantly. He bites the eraser tip of the pencil and passes the book around. It goes to Liam, Zayn, Niall, and then Louis.

“I don’t care what people say when we’re together.” Louis speaks it as if it were a line from a poem.

“You know I wanna be the one to hold you when you sleep.” Harry follows with the second line he’s written, already from memory.

“It’s really good,” Liam says. The other two nod in response, but Louis stays silent, the line he spoke hanging off of his lips.

“Idea,” he murmurs, snatching the pencil from Harry. “Can I?” He gestures to the book, asking to write in it.

Harry nods. “Go ahead, please.”

Louis’ face is cute when he scrunches his nose, drawing the book up on his knees and close to his face as he writes. It’s Harry’s turn to stare now, and he waits expectantly for him to finish. He takes longer than Harry did, though, and after a few minutes pass Niall coughs somewhat loudly and leans over to try and read what he’s doing.

“Not yet!” Louis snaps, crossing something out and writing over it. “Is it okay if I moved some things around?” he directs to Harry.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay.” Louis clears his throat. “Um, let me know if it’s rubbish.”

“It’s not,” Zayn says with love.

“You have too much faith,” Louis says, still self-deprecating. “Anyway. Okay.” He nudges Niall to start strumming a set of chords again as he recites:

_“I’m sorry if I say I need you/I don’t care what people say when we’re together/_

_But I don’t care, I’m not scared of love/You know I wanna be the one to hold you when you sleep.”_

He clears his throat loudly. “That’s it. For now.” He looks up hesitantly but is met with nothing but grins.

“That’s brilliant, Louis,” Liam says with a grin.

“I mean,” he shrugs, “Not perfect. At all. But I think it would work as an echo. You know, sometimes they do that on tracks, record you singing two verses and mixing it? I think that would fit here. So you have the first and second lines almost simultaneously and then the next two like that as well.”

Harry squeezes his thigh. “I think that’s perfect, Lou.”

Niall drops his guitar in his lap, covering his ears. “No sex names in the theatre!”

Harry reaches across to give him a light punch. “Come off it.”

They spend another hour or two like that, coming up with more lines and tossing them back and forth. It’s nice, and to be completely honest, Harry and Louis are the ones who come up with the most. It’s almost as if they’re writing for each other. Really, Harry figures, who else could it be for?

They have to pack up and head out eventually, but they’re nowhere near done with the project and Harry knows the song will be on his mind for a while until they get to it again.

Louis frantically etches out a few more lines in the book before Harry wraps it up, but Louis asks him not to read them aloud until next time. “Wait on them. I want to come up with a melody or summat to go with them before.”

Harry nods, but figures that Louis didn’t tell _him_ not to read them. He looks down stealthily.

_People always trying to escape it._  
Move on to stop their heart breaking.  
But there's nothing I'm running from.  
You make me strong.

He thinks Louis might be a genius.

*

Harry takes Zayn’s advice in the end, and stays up late to essentially redo his essay. He turns it in again Tuesday morning before calculus, and when he checks his student portal on Wednesday he’s pleased to see that it’s a far better mark than he could have hoped for. He should buy Zayn a pint or something, he figures. He logs off from his account and puts his phone away, looking up at the football pitch. Louis had urged him to stop by practice tonight, that the lads were all asking after him. And as there are no recruiters, or Eleanors, there, for that matter, Harry was happy to comply. The team’s spirits are all significantly higher after their success the previous weekend and they’re mostly playing for strength and skill-building now – they don’t have any more games until after Christmas holidays and exams.

Christ. Harry can’t believe that his first semester at uni is almost over. At the same time, it feels as though he’s been living this life for forever. He’s only been here for two months and a week, but he just settled so quickly, and was lucky to find such a group of friends to latch onto, that once all of his beginning headaches and drama were sorted out he slid right into a routine that he can’t imagine stepping out of. He makes a face to himself and lets his chin fall into his hands. He has less than a month before he goes back to Holmes Chapel for four weeks that he expects to pass by incredibly slowly.

His eyes follow Louis running drills with the team up and down the pitch, kicking the football right into Will’s chest and knocking the wind out of him. Louis laughs as he gets flipped off by the goalie and turns around to get in the back of the queue.

Maybe he could go up to Doncaster for a few days. Or not, he quickly reminds himself, as Louis isn’t out to his family and he can’t exactly parade around his hometown with a boyfriend. Maybe Louis wants to come to Holmes Chapel for a bit instead. He’d probably get on with Gemma well, if she doesn’t drown the both of them in teasing. Harry had mentioned in a few texts that he’s seeing someone and she jumped all over him, demanding pictures and details. She’s always asking after the “fit footie bloke” when he talks to her now.

“Styles!” Harry is snapped out of his daydreams and turns to look over to who’s called for him. Matthews is standing at the bottom of the bleachers and beckoning him over. Harry scrambles down, not even able to imagine what he wants from him now. He had given him a friendly enough greeting when he showed up to the arena through the back entrance.

“Hi, Sir,” Harry says as he reaches his level. He’s only an inch or two shorter than the coach, but Matthews looms over him overwhelmingly. Hopefully it’s just in his nature and not some power struggle he has going on.

He hesitates for a moment before clasping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You can call me David. Come with me for a second.”

Harry nods and follows him into the locker room. Matthews – David – gestures for him to take a seat on one of the benches and he sits down beside him. He doesn’t say anything, and Harry starts getting nervous. He doesn’t know why, but it’s all a bit intimidating – far more so than being held back for a second before getting on a bus. He clasps his hands together to try and stop the sheen of sweat glistening on them from showing. “I don’t know – sorry if I shouldn’t be here. Louis just told me to stop by if I had time, so I figured he had it cleared –”

“No. You’re fine for now, today was an okay day.” He angles his body so he’s facing Harry a little more. Harry takes a breath to steel himself and looks him in the eye. “Let me get right to the point. Louis is a son to me. All of the boys are, but I’ve put a special effort into Louis, his career, and my relationship with him these past three years, all things considered.”

“I know.” Harry pauses, unsure of where this is going and if he should say more. “It means a lot to him.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s talked to you about that, then. I just want you to know that I always have his best interests at heart. That I don’t ever say anything, do anything, or suggest anything to him for the school’s gain, or my own, and that whatever I’m having Louis do this for his own good and that of his future’s.”

Harry nods slowly.

“I think we got off to a bad start, Harry. I didn’t mean to come on so strongly this past weekend. I’m glad that you came, that you got to know the team better and get more of a glimpse of Louis’ life on the pitch.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, although it’s more open-ended like a question. “The team’s great.”

“They are,” David agrees. “But if you got anything out of this weekend, I hope it’s that you see how much of a chance Louis has in the football world. He’s in a very precarious, shaky place right now, and one wrong move, whether that be on the pitch or off, could decide where he gets signed, if at all.”

“We’ve talked about that, yeah.”

David stands up, running his hands through his hair. “Right.”

Harry kicks a leg up over his knee, crossing them. He doesn’t like how he’s been called in here while Louis doesn’t know what’s going on. At least, he thinks he doesn’t. “Are you asking something of me? Does Louis know that you are?”

David turns back to face him. “I’m asking you to consider something, and no, Louis doesn’t know that I’m talking to you right now.”

“I’m not really all that comfortable, then, if we could wait –”

He continues talking over Harry’s protests. “Hear me out for a moment, Styles, would you? Louis is impossible to get through right now. He’s smitten, for one, as I’m sure you can tell.”

Harry tightens his legs and crosses his arms, unsure how to respond. “Um…”

“I’m afraid he’s going to do something rash before he’s signed onto a team, and I don’t think that either of you have any idea of how much of a waste of talent and potential that would be.”

“Excuse me?” Harry blinks, wishing he would stop beating around the bush. “If you could be clearer. I don’t know what you’re asking of me. Louis’ not planning on coming out any time soon, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s taking to his stunts with Eleanor as fine as he can.”

David paces back and forth, running his hands through his hair. “For now, but I can tell that he’s restless.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Harry butts in unceremoniously. “Sorry to be blunt, but you really have no idea –”

David looks at him exasperatedly. “I’ve been coaching for years, Harry. No, I haven’t experienced the closet personally, but I’ve seen it unfold in about as many ways as it can, positively and negatively. I’m determined that Louis is going to come out on top.”

Harry rubs his face, trying to shake off the frustration. “Look, I appreciate that. The intentions. What do you want from me here? Are you trying to get me to walk away?”

David sits down across from him. “I’m laying out a few options for you.”

Harry looks up again and slumps back in his seat, jutting his chin up as if to defiantly say “go on.”

“First things first, I think you need to realize that you aren’t each other’s worlds. You’ve known him for what, two months? You’re hardly a tragic love story.”

Fuck this. Harry doesn’t need to deal with this shit coming from someone he doesn’t even know. Zayn’s comment the other day was bad enough. “That’s not the point,” he spits out, getting up to go back to the pitch. “You have no place to lecture me.”

David grabs him by the elbow and pushes him back to his seat. “I said, hear me out please. I’m not done yet. You asked if I want you to end things with Louis. I’m saying it wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

Harry has half a mind to flip him off, push him away, and walk out. But something’s stopping him. Shit, it’s Louis that’s stopping him. He heard how much Louis’ relationship with David means to him, and Louis doesn’t need to see Harry storm off the pitch in anger. He shakes his arm away and stands up so they’re nearly on eye level again. “You said you don’t want to hurt him, yet you’re asking me to do just that.”

David stares him down. “He’d understand in time.”

“He said you’d asked him to do this before, and he said no then. So I’m going to respect Louis’ decision with that and not take orders from you.”

He exhales, puts his hands up in a defensive gesture, and takes a few steps back so that they aren’t nose-to-nose anymore. “I never ordered you to do anything, Harry. If you really want to help Louis, and it’s obvious you do, then there is something else you could do. So it’s not a one-sided effort.”

“One-sided effort?” Harry sputters. He’s growing angrier, and not just on Louis’ behalf. “Are you _blind_? Can’t you _see_?” He’s near blinded himself from frustration at this point in the conversation. “I think you need to start looking at this as something that involves two people, you know. I’m not a plaything of Louis’ or whatever, that can step away whenever he wants. You’re so invested in Louis’ life story that you’re not bothering to think about mine.”

David starts to interrupt him, but Harry keeps going. “No, now you hear me out. This isn’t me playing hidden WAG to Louis’ football career. I have a story, too. And I have a promise I made to myself, that I had to break, because of how important this is to Louis. Not that it’s your business, but I told myself, just after I turned sixteen, when I came out to my family, that I would never lock myself into a closet. Never. I’m proud of myself, okay? There are people out there, arseholes out there, who think there’s something warped with who I am and who I love. But there isn’t. And I’ve been lucky that my dealings with those people have been limited, though not nonexistent. But you don’t understand, and that’s your problem here. Before you even tried to come between us, Louis told me we couldn’t be open. _And I said okay_. I broke that promise I made to myself years ago. Because not being with Louis, when I could be, when he wanted to be, sounded worse than locking a part of myself up and away from how the rest of the world perceived me.

“I’m not blaming you for that, or anyone, besides the industry as a whole, because that was my decision. But don’t you dare say that I’m coasting through this, enjoying free weekend trips away, all that shit. Because I’m not, and it sounds like you’re giving Louis autonomy in this, if you’re pulling me here to try and guilt trip me into making decisions for the both of us, and I deserve the same treatment.”

Harry stops, panting. He didn’t mean to get into that rant, but he did, and damn, it felt good. Matthews is staring back at him, having stepped back a meter or so while Harry was going off on him. He hadn’t yelled, but he hadn’t sat passively either. He’s blinking at him in a sort of shock, and Harry realizes that he probably hasn’t had a student defend themselves like that before. At least, that would fit from what he hears of school coaches in the media and movies all the time.

He stares at him for a few more moments, pressing his hand against a locker as if to catch his breath. Harry stares right back, waiting for him to answer.

“Alright. Thank you for explaining that.”

Harry nods curtly. “Is that it, then?”

“No, because now I’m going to level with you like the adult you just showed you are.” He takes his first stance again. “You said you chose to go back into the closet. Okay, good for you, you made that decision. Now keep it up.”

“I never said I wasn’t going to –” Harry starts to protest but is cut off again.

“I mean, go further. Louis’ doing it, so why don’t you? It doesn’t have to be forever. Just long enough so it’s clear.”

Harry groans and sits back down. “So I need a girlfriend now, too?”

Matthews shrugs. “It would help. If you’re both taken you’d be able to spend more time around here. You wouldn’t have to spend all of your time away from him in certain company.”

He looks up at him. “I don’t know if that’s good, for either of us, it’s bad enough as it is…”

“Right. It’s bad enough now, and Louis’ shouldering most of that. Listen, don’t let into me again, I know it’s not easy to watch your boyfriend all up with another person, someone he’s not comfortable with. But it’s _not easy_ for you, it’s _hard_ for him.” He crouches down to level with Harry from the bench, and Harry makes eye contact with him. His eyes are warmer now than they were before, and he can start to see bits of love for the person they’re talking about behind them. Harry wants to get mad again, to yell for real this time, that he doesn’t understand, that he sees the wedding band on his right hand and _knows_ that he _couldn’t_ understand, but he can’t find it in himself to do it.

“Think about it, Harry. Not forever.” He stands up again, and Harry follows suit.

“I’ll…think about it.”

David claps Harry on the back, pulling him into a very sportsman-like embrace.

“For Louis,” he’s quick to add stiffly.

“Of course. Always. You’re a good kid, Harry. He’s gone for worse before.”

Harry nods and follows him out of the locker rooms and back to the pitch. He takes his seat on the bleachers again and tries to put the previous conversation out of his mind. He doesn’t want to go and decide anything too quickly, because it’s so hard to take back, but he’ll think on it, he’ll talk to Louis about it…

Time passes, and soon enough it’s completely dark and the arena lights have the place artificially lit up. The team looks ready to collapse into a sweaty heap, and David blows the whistle, dismissing them before he packs up his own things and heads out.

Harry gets engaged in small, playful banter with Adam for a few minutes before he leaves, then Jude, and soon the pitch is empty except for Louis, who’s still kicking a football around. He gets an idea.

Harry leaps over the barrier and jogs out to join him. He darts in just as Louis’ about to make a corner kick, and steals the ball, scoring a goal. He flips his arms up, running around the pitch and yelling his head off like and utter fool, and as he circles back around Louis just has the fondest, most crinkly-eyed smile on his face.

“I’d tackle you for stealing the ball but that was quite the show you just put on.”

“My first goal!” Harry brags, pointing to himself. “But you can tackle me if you want.”

Louis snorts but his eyes grow dark. He darts into the goal, grabbing the football and throwing it across the pitch. Harry chases after it but Louis, of course, reaches it first. They fight for it and when Harry gains control after barely two minutes he gets the sense that Louis is going easy on him. “I can hold my own!” he insists, dribbling the ball over to the other goal and kicking it in.

Or trying to. Louis darts in front of him and snatches it out of thin air.

“No hands!” Harry yells, pouting.

Louis shrugs. “Only two of us on the pitch, we have to double as goalies. And I’m not going easy on you, Styles, I’m just…evening the playing field.”

Harry huffs. “Same difference.”

“Here.” Louis tosses the ball over to him and Harry catches it. “I’ll give you a few pointers.”

Harry nods, dropping the ball and rolling it over in his Converse-clad foot.

“When you kick it, don’t go with the toe.” He backs his way into the goal again, gesturing Harry over to the center of the pitch. He bends down, eyes still locked with Harry’s, and rubs the inside of his toes, where one shoe meets the other. “Kick from here, so it goes at a bit of an angle. And get some leverage underneath the ball, instead of head-on. You’ll have more control over where it goes and it’ll gain more momentum that way.”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry smiles, bites his lip, and backs up, following Louis’ instruction. The ball soars with more skill than it had before, but he catches it all the same.

“Better.” Louis tosses it back to him but Harry turns around and runs to the other end of the pitch, and they kick back and forth, back and forth until Louis breaks and runs head on, trying to get the ball from Harry’s feet. He gets in wrong, and both go toppling over, the football rolling away.

“Mghskldghw!” Harry manages to squeak out from under Louis’ back, his feet tangled between Louis’ legs and his arms pinned between their back and abdomen.

“Oops,” Louis drawls, extricating his limbs and rolling over onto the faux grass of the pitch. “Thought you said I could tackle you.”

“Ow, though,” Harry complains, rubbing his thighs where they were pinned down. He turns his head to look at Louis and sees him still grinning, face lit up and giggling like the sun.

They sit like that for a few minutes, giggling back and forth and brushing random bits of pitch off of each other. Louis is the first to stand, hauling Harry up with him. “You’re not as bad as you let on,” he says, trying to make it sound like a compliment.

“Heyyy,” Harry complains, pushing at his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I was a right footie star back in the day.”

“Back in the day?” Louis raises his eyebrows as he is wont to do.

“Yes,” Harry quips, striding over to grab the ball and throw it over to the bleachers. “Back in the day. Year two.”

Louis lets out an even louder laugh, which bounces through the acoustics of the arena. “Little Harry, seven years old and on the pitch.”

Harry turns back to Louis and makes one of his signature grumpy faces. “I was very athletic, thank you.”

“Of course you were, love,” Louis remarks, putting his hands on the bars separating the audience from the pitch, trapping Harry where he is, and standing on his tip toes to kiss him.

Harry smiles into the kiss, winding his arm around Louis’ waist. He’s still sweaty and in his football kit but Harry likes it like that. He lets Louis slide his tongue along his bottom lip and he opens his mouth for him as he deepens the kiss. _Love_. It’s a new pet name, and Harry likes it. The word sounds soft and sweet rolling off of Louis’ tongue.

A moan escapes Louis and Harry feels his lips vibrate against his. He moans back lightly in return, squeezing at his waist. Louis breaks away suddenly, wiping his mouth and taking a step back.

Harry pouts and whimpers, holding his arms out like a child.

Louis just cocks his head to the side and looks Harry up and down. “I need a favor, Harold.”

Harry laughs. “A favor?”

“Yes,” Louis nods, “A favor. You see, I have this bucket list.”

“A bucket list? You’re twenty and you’re checking things off of a bucket list.”

Louis waves him away. “It’s far too long to ever reach the end.”

Harry smiles. “That’s cute.” He sits up on the bar and swings his legs. “What do you need my help with?”

“Stand back up, for starters.”

Harry does so with an expectant look on his face, as if he’s about to be handed or asked to go fetch something. He has no clue what Louis has up his sleeve this time, really, anything is fair game with this bloke, and – _Oh_. Louis has closed the space between them again and dropped to his knees, running his hands up and down Harry’s thighs. Of fucking course.

Louis giggles as he sees Harry’s expression, which is a combination of shock and arousal. “Always wanted to blow someone on the pitch in my kit. After practice or a game, preferably.” He drags his thumb against the waistband of Harry’s grey skinnies, his hands under Harry’s jacket. “So if you don’t mind…”

Harry lets out a deep and throaty laugh. “Not at all.”

Louis leans in and blows directly where his dick is lying beneath his jeans and pants. He tugs at Harry’s jacket, murmuring, “Gonna get hot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry whispers, unzipping his coat and throwing it to the ground beside them. Louis’ hands slip up Harry’s jumper, fingers pressing against his slight love handles and his abs, lips still mouthing at the denim.

He can feel himself growing, hardening under the teasing, the nonexistent contact. He bites his lip to stay quiet.

“Are you comfortable like this?” Louis asks, looking up with concern. “Against the bar?”

Harry nods, dropping his hands to run through Louis’ hair. “’Course.”

“Right.” He drops his hands from under the jumper to fiddle with the belt and button of the jeans. “You’re just a little quieter than usual.”

Harry lets out a loud laugh. “We’re on a _football pitch_ , Lou,” he insists. “Can’t be _loud_.”

Louis scoffs and puts his hands back up Harry’s jumper, giving his hips a squeeze, squeezing them so tightly that Harry whimpers loudly despite himself, knowing that bruises will be there in the morning. Last weekend’s haven’t even fully faded yet. He likes the burn, knowing that Louis’ hands, fingers, mouth, lips, teeth have the power to make him feeling anything and everything. He knows that Louis knows that too, and he looks down at him to find him staring back up.

“You can be loud,” he says. He drops his hands and goes back to the jeans, pushing them down below Harry’s knees so that they pool around his ankles. “No one’ll be here. Maintenance comes in in the morning.”

“Okay,” Harry breathes, relishing that his waist still feels as though Louis’ fingers were there.

“What was that?” Louis asks as he palms Harry’s cock through his pants. “Couldn’t hear you, Hazza.”

“Okay,” he cries out, loud enough so that his voice echoes for a few seconds.

Louis gives his pants a tug so they fall down to the skinnies. “That’s better. I like it when you’re loud. Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.”

Harry’s cock springs free and he shivers in the cold November air. He breathes out and sees the air fog up around him. “You’re _always_ doing something right, Lou,” he shudders.

“Glad to hear it.” He takes Harry’s cock in his hand and pumps slowly, bringing it up to full hardness. He raises himself higher on his knees and snakes a hand up through Harry’s jumper, searching for something, until he pads across one of Harry’s nipples and squeezes, roughly.

Harry’s moan echoes through the arena again as Louis continues to jerk and squeeze. “Fuck, Louis,” he calls out.

Louis presses a kiss to his bare thigh, a welcome patch of warmth in the cold air. “I know you like it when it hurts.”

“I do.”

He brings his mouth to Harry’s dick, licking a fat stripe along the bottom.

Harry grits his teeth, loving the feeling of Louis’ warm and wet tongue against his erect and throbbing cock.

“We can talk more about that later if you want.”

And Harry does want that. He wants Louis to bruise him up more, to leave his mark so even if they can’t walk around holding hands he’s still there with him, claiming him. Making love slowly, thoroughly, and full of fondness and heart eyes is fantastic, of course, but Harry finds a special sort of pleasure in being roughhoused with, spanked, slapped, and to be quite honest, he’s floored that Louis is offering this up to him so easily. He remembers his boyfriend from secondary school and one of the few openly gay blokes in Holmes Chapel, and his reaction when Harry had asked him to grip a little harder, maybe give him a small slap once. He hadn’t even asked during sex where it might’ve thrown him off, he’d brought it up when they were cuddling and talking about favorite positions one morning. So it really wasn’t that weird of a thing to say, Harry had thought. Yeah, _thought_. That was the first of several arguments where the words “freaky” and “weird” were brought up in conjunction with Harry’s name.

So yes, Louis casually suggesting they have a whole conversation about Harry’s preferences mid-blowjob is really quite a wonderful thing for him to hear. He wants to tell him how much he appreciates that sometime.

For now, though, he just threads his fingers through Louis’ hair, relishing how utterly amazing he looks, on his knees on the green pitch, in his football kit and cleats, fringe flopping into his eyes as he sucks the tip of Harry’s dick into his mouth, his lips puckering and cheeks hollowing. Harry juts his hips forward on instinct, moaning and uttering, “Like that, Lou, like that…”

Louis closes his eyes and screws his face in concentration, pushing into his mouth further and twisting with his hand on the base. His other hand drifts back to Harry’s arse, pushing between it and the cold metal of the bar, offering up an incredibly pleasurable release. He squeezes, and his nails dig a bit into Harry’s cheeks. Another moan escapes from his lips as his hips rock forward again and Louis goes deeper.

His fingers curl around Louis’ hair, needing to occupy them with something graspable. He pulls his head back a little, just enough so he can look Louis in the eye. He’s whimpering under his gaze, making deep, vibrating moans against Harry’s cock, and he can barely stand it. Combined with the whip of the wind that’s circling through the arena, the cold of the bar against his arse and the dig of Louis’ fingers into it, Louis’ hot, breathy mouth on his dick, he’s so overwhelmed by all of the sensations crashing into him at once. He’s not sure if he can stay stagnant for long.

Louis senses what he’s trying to ask, and pulls off with a pop. Harry shudders at the loss of contact with his cock. He heaves and brings his eyes up, looking around the empty arena, the empty pitch, and he would blush with embarrassment if he wasn’t so turned on from being so exposed out here, _on Louis’ turf,_ fulfilling one of Louis’ apparent ultimate fantasies.

“Fuck my face,” Louis commands, staring right into him as Harry looks back down. “Do it,” he urges again, bringing his lips back to Harry’s cock, peppering it with kisses and paying extra attention to the slit, leaking precome, his tongue swirling around it. He crosses his arms behind his back with a wink, clasping his hands together.

Harry takes his head into both of his hands, nudging him further toward his cock, and Louis’ mouth opens happily as he sinks back into Harry slowly. Harry works him, holding him gently until he has nearly all of his cock in his mouth, the tip of his nose brushing Harry’s skin. Harry slowly pulls back, meeting Louis’ eyes and he sees how dark they’ve gotten, how hungry and needy they are, and he throws his own head back to groan loudly as he thrusts into Louis’ mouth He fucks his face with little abandon, relishing every single one of the filthy noises that come out of Louis’ own mouth. He feels his cock brush against the back of Louis’ throat, and he’s just taking it _so well_ that the thought alone is enough to rile Harry up like this.

Harry feels his orgasm coming on, first slowly and then all at once, and he yanks quickly on Louis’ hair, maybe too hard, to let him know what’s about to come. Louis just moves his arms forward and grips Harry’s legs for bearing.

And oh, that is enough to send Harry over the edge, his orgasm hurtling through him as he comes down Louis’ throat, running his fingers through his hair as he takes it. Harry bites his lip hard, so hard that blood is probably starting to spurt a little, but he can’t focus on anything other than the pleasure coursing through his veins and the filthy noises that he knows are coming out of his mouth, and Louis, God, Louis as he pulls away, come and spit dribbling down his chin. He’s positively wrecked, ruined, filthy, and Harry did this to him, Harry turned his face into that hot, sexy mess.

Louis looks just as pleasured, moaning and wiping at his chin with his fingers, licking and sucking them back into his mouth.

Wordlessly, Harry yanks his pants and jeans back up and drops slowly down to the ground to level with Louis. He drops his mouth to his, kissing him and tasting himself on Louis’ tongue and lips. It’s hotter than he had expected, and he can’t get enough. Louis’ lips are swollen and soft under his own, and the whimpering… _God_ , Harry thinks he might go mad.

He tugs Louis’ jersey out of his shorts and slips a hand in, quickly finding his rock-hard dick. It’s slick, so slick with precome that it’s easily lubricated and Harry starts pumping, feeling Louis writhe underneath him as his cock finally gets the attention it’s clearly been aching for.

Louis lifts his head to nip at Harry’s earlobe, biting gently and whispering into his ear. “So good,” he lets out hoarsely, “Your cock is so good in my mouth baby, I loved you fucking into me like that, and now –” He lets out a hiss as Harry squeezes tighter and pumps harder. “Now your hand on me, Christ, I’m not gonna last, I’m gonna come so quick…”

True to his word, Louis comes, spurting ribbons of white into Harry’s hand and his shorts within two minutes, moaning loudly and clamping down on Harry’s shoulder roughly and with teeth.

Harry withdraws his hand, looking at Louis slyly and rubbing it on the pitch out of the way. Louis barks out a laugh but his voice is still hoarse and he’s still shaken from his orgasm.

Harry leans back in, pressing his hand up against Louis’ forehead and brushing the matted and sweaty fringe out of the way so he can look directly into those baby blue eyes. “You’re pretty,” he murmurs, not even caring to blush at the vulnerability of that statement, considering where they are and what they’re doing.

Louis closes his eyes and hums. “Thank you.”

And Harry is overwhelmed with affection for this boy, this caring, loving, talented, smart, cunning, beautiful, witty, hilarious, and just ace in bed boy, that he wants to curl into him, or curl him into him, he doesn’t really care which, forever. He wants to protect him from all of the stupidity surrounding his life and hold onto him forever.

It seems that his thoughts translate to his face, because Louis’ expression grows concerned and he yanks Harry closer to him, holding his shoulders. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

Harry blinks and presses a kiss to Louis’ temple. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, Lou, ‘m right here.” He dips his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, and he smells of sweat and sports and sex and it’s probably Harry’s favorite smell in the world right now.

He feels Louis’ heartbeat slowly calm against his own after a few minutes, and Louis is rubbing circles into his back.

“Should probably go now, huh?” he asks, standing up slowly and offering Harry a hand.

He takes it, and fixes his jeans and belt as he stands, stooping to pick up his jacket. “Yeah, getting late.”

Louis jerks his head to the locker rooms. “Gonna go change. I have a key.” He turns to go, and Harry watches him as he walks off, body swaying in the light of the arena, his hand smoothing out his messed up kit. He stops as he reaches the door to the lockers, turning around. “I have to shower. You’re not coming?”

Oh, Harry is coming all right. He jogs after him and grabs him by the waist, tickling, as they walk into the building.

And he knows. He knew on the field, really, when Louis looked at him with those doe eyes after he came and Harry brushed his hair out of the way, maybe he even knew when Louis was telling him how to kick a football properly. But when they cram into one of the open-air stalls of the locker room, soaping each other up with plain bars and grinding together until they each reach a second orgasm, Harry is certain.

He would do anything for him, to protect him and make his life a little less difficult in this horrendous world. And Louis has already given so much for their relationship, put in the effort to make it happen and then make it work against the odds. So even though Harry doesn’t want to, he takes Coach Matthews’ words to heart that night. He needs to give a little more, and if that means shoving himself further into the closet than he already is, then so be it.

*

Niall and Liam, on the other hand, don’t take so well to Harry’s revelation.

“Harry, I’ve had a beard before,” Liam warns over breakfast the next morning. “It’s not…Harry, if it’s not one hundred percent _your_ decision and what _you_ want to do, it’s dangerous. For your well-being, your sanity.”

“Listen to Liam, Harry, he knows this stuff,” Niall adds in.

Harry puts his fork down and crosses his arms defiantly. “And if it _is_ my decision? If it _is_ what I want?”

Liam gives him a long, hard look. “I don’t think it is. I think you’re feeling guilty and trying to be a martyr for your relationship.”

Harry scoffs loudly and rolls his eyes. “I’m not, lads, but thanks for the assumption. I’m trying to help him, to take the weight off of his shoulders a bit.”

“Does he know you’re doing this yet? Louis?” Niall asks.

Harry stabs a sausage link with his fork. “Not yet. He’ll get all defensive, you know, trying to stop me. I’ll tell him after. Also, you know, this doesn’t have to be as intense as his situation is. It’s more of a let people infer from what they see type thing. Just enough to take the edge off of how I’m perceived, you know? I’ll keep it on the down low.”

They both look at him with looks that Harry can’t quite decipher for a few seconds before going back to their food, nudging each other silently. Harry looks down at his plate again as well.

“Who?” Liam is the first to speak again, with a tone that indicates he already knows the answer.

Harry bites his lip. He’s had an idea and now he just has to find a way to carry it out. He thinks it’s for the best, and he doesn’t know where else to turn. Also…it wouldn’t change things _too_ much, too drastically, from how they are now. He takes a drink of water. “You know how I was complaining to you a few days ago, Niall?”

Niall snorts. “You complain a lot.”

“Yes, well, about how people are all goddamn heteronormative. They see me with a girl and think we’re dating.”

Both of his friends nod.

“So I’ll just, like, encourage it. I’ll stop fighting against it. If I can’t beat the system then I’ll use it to my advantage.”

Liam and Niall look at each other. Then Niall turns to Harry, saying, “You didn’t answer Liam’s question, though. Who are you going to find to do this with?”

“Taylor?” Harry spits out, almost like a question, although he doesn’t intend it as one.

“Mayhew?” Liam blinks incredulously.

“Dirty blonde, red lipstick, my girlfriend’s best friend Taylor?” Niall adds, driving the point home.

Harry nods, a mouth full of eggs. “Who else?” he sputters.

Niall points directly at him, a defiant and, frankly, pissed off expression on his face. “If you somehow manage to fuck up _my_ relationship with your ‘selfless’ shenanigans, I swear Styles, I will –”

Harry holds his hands up as if he’s at gunpoint. “Where did I mention Chelsea? She doesn’t play into this at all. Like I said before, people already think Taylor and I are involved.”

Liam shakes his head. “Do it if you want. Better it’s with someone you know than with a stranger. But think about the position this puts Taylor in, what she’ll have to carry with her, and like Niall said, don’t fuck it up. It’s easy to do.”

Harry brushes them off with a wave of the hand. “I know what I’m doing, it’s gonna be fine. It’s good for Louis, it’ll be good for us, and it’ll be good for me.”

Niall rolls his eyes as they gather their empty plates and part ways to class.

Harry sits through sociology with Taylor as usual, smiling a little bigger and cracking a few more – charmingly bad, he should admit – jokes than is typical for him. When lecture is over they walk out together, and just as they go to part ways he grabs her elbow.

He’s thought of the perfect start to this stunt, worked it all out in his head. They’ll go to one of the pubs that’s more popular with Manchester students on Saturday night, when Louis is out with Eleanor, just the two of them for now. Maybe after it becomes clear to everyone else they can throw Niall and Chelsea in as a double-date if he’s willing. When he steels himself to ask her as much, the grin that lights up on her face is more than a little disorienting to Harry.

“I’d love that. I think that’s great. I’d really, really like to go out with you, Harry,” she exclaims, pulling him into a hug that he most certainly did not expect. “What time did you want to meet?”

“Um…” he pulls back, running a hand through his hair and trying to laugh. “Dunno, eight?”

“Perfect! This is so exciting, I mean, I guess it’s a little embarrassing for me to admit, but I’ve been hoping that you’d come around. To us.”

He stands still, hoping that the deer-in-the-headlights attitude he’s feeling rush over him doesn’t come across on his face. He had absolutely intended to find a way to work in there that he’s asking this as a favor, and even that he’s seeing someone else but they can’t be open about their relationship. He would have planned on coming completely clean, Louis and all, but he still isn’t one hundred percent sure that she won’t go talking to Chelsea and her other friends and that it wouldn’t spread. But he had absolutely intended on conveying that this wasn’t your traditional date he was asking her on…

Now, with her doe eyes and red-lipped grin, he isn’t so sure that he can do that.

He manages a smile and a promise to meet in front of their building Saturday night at eight. He’ll let her know then, over drinks, he’ll explain the truth as best he can. And he’ll see how it goes from there, and let Louis know afterwards. Perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the song they're working on is inspired by this amazing track: https://soundcloud.com/arbrabarbra/strong-happily which isn't my work at all, it's the work of the soundcloud user arbrabarbra, but I was absolutely inspired by it. Hopefully the way Louis wrote makes some sense/works after you listen to this.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it.
> 
> -
> 
> I can be found on tumblr at makesmewannatsss.tumblr.com if anyone is interested. :-)


	12. I Wish That Every Kiss Was Neverending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some kink talk (really mild, though, imo) and spanking in this chapter, as a warning.
> 
> And full credit to McFly for the song "Love is Easy."
> 
> (By the way, just a character note - Harry, and Louis, to a lesser extent, is being an asshole here. I think that's necessary for now, in the larger picture of things, and I don't want to give anything away but I'm just throwing that out there as an acknowledgement.)

“And here. And here. Here, too. Okay, no, this is my favorite spot, surprise, surprise.”

Louis is peppering countless kisses into Harry’s bare and sweaty skin, tracing over the marks he has just left. He starts sucking on that “favorite spot,” inside of Harry’s star. Harry grabs Louis’ hair, moaning and writhing back into the sheets.

“Lou…”

Louis scoots back up to face-level and plants a kiss directly on Harry’s mouth. “Yes, love?”

He’s been calling Harry “love” for the past four days, ever since their rendezvous on the football pitch. Harry hasn’t complained.

“We don’t have time to go again.”

Louis pouts, sighs, huffs, and acts impertinently annoyed. But he gives Harry another kiss on the lips and rolls off of him to lie on his back. “Sex with you is amazing,” he murmurs. “ _You’re_ amazing.”

Harry laughs. He’s amazed, he is, at how far Louis has come in the time they’ve been together. He remembers how nervous he was their first time together, but his development in the confidence and self-assurance department ever since has been wondrous.

He runs his hand down Louis’ arm to squeeze his own hand. “No, you.”

Louis shudders in what Harry can only imagine is pleasure and sits himself up on an elbow, palm in chin. “Let me make it even more amazing for you, then.”

“Hmm?” Harry reaches out to Louis, grabbing with both hands, until Louis takes one and squeezes again.

“Tell me what you like.”

Harry scoots forward and presses his mouth to Louis’ raised arm. “You’re doing what I like.” He leans in closer and whispers directly into his ear. “Coming down my throat. Letting _me_ come down _your_ throat. Fucking me until I can’t think straight. Biting, sucking bruises all over me, marking me –”

He’s cut off by Louis taking a harsh, shaky breath and pulling away a little. “Yeah, that. Let’s focus on that for now. You like it when it hurts, yeah?”

Oh, right. _That_. He bites his lip and nods. “I like it a lot. It’s a good hurt.”

“I just wanna, like, know what you want, how you want it, before I do more. I don’t want to hurt you in a bad way on accident. So tell me more.”

Harry blushes despite his best efforts to keep a cool face. “Um…”

Louis kicks back into a more comfortable position and squeezes Harry’s hand again. “Don’t be embarrassed, or anything, Hazza. Just tell me, so it’s fun for both of us.”

“Not embarrassed,” Harry says, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look directly at Louis right now. “I mean, if it’s mutual, we’ve discussed it, it’s, then it’s great. Just, I asked someone else once, and he basically laughed in my face. So thank you for this? I think.”

He opens his eyes to find Louis gaping at him in a sort of horror. “Can I beat him up? Because I will. Just show me the way.” He takes Harry’s face in both of his hands and kisses him. “Really, no, I know you know this, but that was downright shameful of him. And, no, don’t thank me. Because I want to explore things with you, everything we could to do to have more fun, so give it a go, love.” He kisses Harry again and looks at him, eye-to-eye and expectantly.

“Liked it when you grabbed my arse on the pitch,” he murmurs, leaning his face into Louis’ hands.

“Yeah? Want me to do that again?”

“No,” Harry breathes. “I want you to smack me, make it sting. I want your hand to leave a mark.”

He lets his eyes crawl up to Louis’ and he’s biting his lip so hard it’s turning white. He lets out a strangled moan and nods quickly. “I can do that. I _wanna_ do that.”

Harry swallows. “And my nipples, I like when you bite and pinch them. I like it when they’re sore.” He feels Louis’ hands tense up around him, aching to move. “Then my hair, of course, love it when you pull my hair. Pull harder.” He shifts his leg under his comforter and feels that Louis’ grown hard again.

“Sorry,” Louis breathes. “Go on.”

“Um…” Harry tries to think, but he’s getting a bit overwhelmed as well. Louis’ hands are right there on him, and there’s so much they could be doing right now. “That’s it. I think.”

Louis nods. “Tell me if you think of more. And always tell me if you want me to stop or lay off.”

He nuzzles into Louis’ neck. “Of course. When’s your practice?” he whispers.

“Noon. And it’s…?”

Harry stretches over him, his own dick brushing over Louis’, both of them letting a noise escape from their mouths as he reaches for his phone. “Quarter past eleven.”

Louis sighs. “ _Please_.”

“Have I reduced you to begging?” Harry flings himself back onto the bed.

“No,” Louis states decisively. “I am not begging.” He rolls over on top of Harry, though, pushing the comforter out of the way, and grinds down _hard_.

“Louis…” He lifts his hips up to meet and counter the friction, their cocks still wet from their previous orgasms and now hard again.

Louis pants, slipping his fingers into Harry’s curls, and yanks. “Fuck yes,” he breathes into Harry’s mouth.

Harry pushes his legs together so Louis can straddle him properly, and they rub together faster and harder and faster and harder, grinding into each other. With each rock of Louis’ hip he gives an equally forceful pull into Harry’s hair and, God, the pleasure of his cock on his skin is a delicious contrast to the sharp tugs on his head.

Soon enough – or far too soon, really – their moans are threatening to grow louder than ever and they bury into each other’s necks. Louis comes with a screech, squeezing Harry’s shoulders. Harry follows moments later, spurting streaks of white between their bellies and mixing with Louis’.

Louis takes a shaky breath and goes back to pressing kisses all over Harry’s face, as if the past twenty minutes hadn’t occurred.

Harry laughs, pushing his boyfriend away playfully. “Lou, you gotta go…”

Louis groans and checks Harry’s phone. “I still have half an hour, the arena is close.”

“You gotta get cleaned up,” Harry urges with a smirk.

“Why are you always right?” Louis rolls his eyes and grabs a handful of tissues, sprinkling them with water from a bottle on the nightstand before rubbing himself down. He turns to Harry, asking, “Do you need some?”

“Nah. I’m gonna go shower.”

“Wait till I leave, yeah?” Louis gets up and starts tripping around, looking for his pants that were discarded late last night. “Liam is a saint, you know? Tell him I owe him a pint, kicking him out for twelve hours.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, crossing to the bunched-up pile of his own jeans and pants in the corner by the door. He grabs the pants and yanks them on. “Well, we didn’t kick him out, he volunteered.”

“He’s a good soul.” Louis rummages through his footie bag, pulling out his kit and starting to get dressed.

Harry falls back onto his bed gracelessly. “Hey.”

Louis looks to him, head poking through his jersey. He looks absolutely ridiculous and gorgeous at the same time, hair poking every which way and his arms straining to find their way through the shirt.

And Harry really hopes that he takes this well. Last night with Taylor…it went well, for what it needs to be. He bought her a drink and she insisted on getting the second round. They talked, they laughed, and he had been absolutely unable to utter the words “I’m gay and asking you for a favor.” He’d meant to, he really had, but it was difficult for him to switch the tone of the conversation in the beginning. And then he was a few drinks in and of course was able to rationalize putting it off for a little longer. They had a few dances and Harry checked his phone, knowing he was meeting Louis at his place at midnight. They said goodnight, Harry had successfully dodged a goodbye kiss, opting for a hug instead – which, to be honest, she probably blamed on the alcohol – and they parted ways at their building.

All Harry had to say for that this morning was _thank God_ she didn’t ask to come down to his room.

He should probably feel worse than he does. But at this point he feels that it would almost be more of an arsehole move for him to tell her. So he formulated a new plan – he “doesn’t do” exclusivity. Or that’ll be his answer if Taylor tries to push things further than dinner dates and drinks. He’ll start dancing with girls more on lads’ nights out, and his story is sold. He hopes.

Again, he just really needs Louis to take this well.

“I thought about some things.”

“Glad to hear you’re using that brain that Zayn’s always talking about,” Louis answers with a wink.

“No, like, listen for a second.”

Louis finally gets the jersey over his neck and tucks it into his shorts. “Shoot.”

“And before – before I tell you, and you react, just know that it’s kind of already done, because I have a say in what’s happening here too, and I think that this is for the best.”

Louis sits on the edge of the bed, facing Harry. “Okay, tell me already.”

“I worked something out, I’m seeing a girl now, too.”

“ _Harry_.” Louis says his name harshly and closes his eyes tightly.

He shrugs even though Louis can’t see him.

“Don’t do this, please.” He looks at him again with a pleading expression. “You really don’t need to. I don’t know where you got this idea – oh, shit, no, not – if he –”

Harry shrugs a second time. “My choice.” It isn’t exactly a lie. “I know I don’t need to, but I think I should. It’ll balance the burden a little.”

Louis stands, busying himself in the mirror with trying to fix his hair a little. “You said you already did it.”

“Yeah, I did. Last night when you were out with Eleanor, I gave it a go. And it was okay.”

“Who?”

“Taylor.”

Louis makes eye contact with him through the mirror. “You’re paying your friend to be your fake girlfriend? I didn’t even know that you were out to her.”

“’M not paying her.”

Louis turns around slowly, making eye contact and giving Harry a look that goes right to his heart. It feels like he can see right through him. “A favor, then?”

Harry steels himself and looks right back at Louis with every bit of intensity he can muster. “You could put it that way.”

Louis sighs and bends down, picking up his t-shirt from yesterday. He balls it up and shoves it into his duffel with no small amount of force. “If you’ve already done it I feel like there’s no convincing you otherwise.” He looks back up at Harry. “I do wish you’d told me before.”

“Would your reaction be any different?”

“I would have tried to convince you otherwise.”

“Okay. But, you know, there’s a closet for the both of us, together, and then there’s one for you, and one for me. Look at it like this is how I’m dealing with mine.”

Louis zips up his bag and slips his Vans on. “Except you just said that you’re doing this to create a balance between us, so forgive me if I can’t exactly separate the two.”

“Semantics.”

Louis laughs. “Not really. But sure. Know that you can tap out at any time, okay? Don’t feel tied down to this. Let Taylor know the same, and tell her thanks from me, yeah?” He leans in to kiss Harry.

“Mmhmm.” Harry accepts the kiss gladly and tells himself that he’s agreeing to Louis’ first question and not his second. Then, he still isn’t really lying.

Louis pulls back and slings his bag on his shoulder. “I hate to leave now. We can talk about this more later if you want. But I really have to go, I’m going to get my arse whipped. Dinner tonight, the five of us?”

Harry nods, smiling. “Have a good practice, Lou.”

Louis sticks a hand in Harry’s hair and messes it up even more. “I will. See you later. Have a shower, eat some food, all of that good stuff.”

Harry laughs as Louis shuts the door behind him. He might be making this up out of wishful thinking, but he thinks that he’s walking a little lighter than before, and for that, he’s grateful.

Later that evening after dinner Harry is sat back in his room and at his desk. Liam’s there too, but he’s currently engulfed in some film on Netflix. Harry shuts his calculus book with force, having finished with his problems for the weekend. It’s been a fairly productive day, overall – once Louis had left he’d gotten right to work. He finished with some articles that he had to read and analyze, outlined an essay, and started on the problems all before they met at the local pizza joint. Now he’s finished with maths and it’s only eleven.

He turns to his book, the leather-bound one they’d been working in on Monday, and opens it up to the lyric pages. He’s been thinking about the song for the past few days, wanting to add to it and be ready if the rest of them wanted to pick back up tomorrow night.

He sits for a while, thinking and scribbling and even sketching. He comes up with one line, but he has to admit that it’s easier to work with everyone around him and bouncing off of each other.

_You don't understand, you don't understand_

It’s an isolated phrase, a snippet removed from his thoughts. It works with the rest, though, and he especially likes it in conjunction from the bit that Louis had finished with.

He has another line, though, but he can’t put it in the song. He sort of morphed it from one of his own favorites. _Sweet Disposition_ , by Temper Trap – he went to Leeds Festival with his friends last year and they had played that song there. It’s been one of his favorites ever since and he could never explain why. After meeting Louis, he thinks that he can.

The song is just about love, and life, and the beauty in its individual moments. Why it’s worth staying around for, essentially.

His favorite set of lyrics is “ _Won’t stop ‘till it’s over/Won’t stop ‘till surrender_ ,” but he thinks that “ _Won’t stop ‘till we surrender_ ” evokes the feeling of the song in a more all-encompassing way.

So Harry turns to the “tattoos ideas” of his book, where different variations of stars and hearts and other assorted shapes are drawn, and pens his version of the line. And he looks at it, almost framing one of the stars, and he really wants it on his body.

Won’t stop ‘till we surrender.

Harry bites his lip and takes his phone out to shoot Zayn a text. _Where do you get your tattoos done?_

He does realize that this might look a bit like he’s getting inked for Louis. And it’s a bit early in the relationship for that, Harry will flat-out admit it. But this isn’t for Louis. It’s for him, and a reminder that he is where he is now because of his choices. That he won’t let a middle-aged football coach who’s far too invested in the careers of his players boss him around behind the scenes. That he won’t sit blindly in a living situation where he isn’t respected, that he instead goes and does something about it. That he can recognize when he needs to put a little more into a relationship and make some sacrifices.

That he won’t stop until he surrenders.

So yes, this tattoo is a reminder of what he’s going through with Louis right now, but it’s for himself. He’s been wanting to get inked again for a while, and what better inspiration to use for the piece than his favorite song?

_Zayn Malik_

_Manchester Ink, 12 minutes by bus. It’s new but I’ve always had luck. Why?_

Harry bites his lip and hesitates before typing out a response. They’ll all see it tomorrow, anyway, but Harry would rather keep it to himself for now. When he got the star done he brought a few friends along and they were more than a bit distracting. None of them were getting inked and they kept talking, trying to “distract him from the pain” when, yeah, it really didn’t bother him anyway. It was a nice sort of pressure, one he could let float away and turn into something that was just there. Unless three voices were forming a chorus of “It’s okay, Harry,” “Almost done,” “Hey, look, it looks like something now!” around him, of course. So he’ll wait a bit on that.

He shoots back a quick _Just getting some ideas, thanks mate xx_ before looking up the website on his phone to make sure that they take walk-ins…and they do. They open at eleven, though, so he’ll probably have to miss sociology if he wants to get it done tomorrow. That’s one of the lectures he has better marks in, though, so he figures that missing it once won’t hurt any. And he can get the notes from Taylor.

He goes and sets his alarm earlier than usual so that he can get a meal in before he heads to the studio.

*

He sits in the studio at eleven thirty the next day, thumbing through catalogues and looking to his bicep every few minutes to double-check the pencil sketches that he made in the morning. He looks up and is fairly certain that he’s watching two sixteen, maybe seventeen-year-old girls get turned away at the counter for being underage. They leave in a huff, but not before one of them tries to make eyes at Harry. He pretends to ignore them and hears the whine as they leave the shop.

“Sorry, we can take you now.”

Harry looks up to find one of the artists standing above him, ready and welcoming him into the back room. He follows, and sits down in the newly-wiped down chair.

“I’m Carl.” He holds his hand out and Harry shakes it. He’s a fairly young bloke, probably no older than thirty. He has a sleeve down his left arm and half of one on his right. Harry looks around the room and sees designs framed all throughout the wall, many of them reminiscent of some of the work on Zayn’s arm.

“Harry, nice to meet you. Hey, do you know Zayn Malik?”

“Right, Harry. Yeah, I’ve done him a few times. A friend?”

Harry settles into the seat, letting his rucksack fall to the side. “A good friend, yes. I called him up last night to ask for a parlor recommendation and he told me to come here.”

Carl smiles. “He’s always nice to see. You were looking last night, though, did you want to get your piece done today? You mentioned over the phone earlier that it’s small. Or we can just talk about the design.”

Harry leans down and shifts through his bag to pull out his book. “It’s simple, yeah, I’m ready to get it done today. Just script, kind of curving around my star, like this?” He shows the artist the small sketch he made in his book and then shows where he marked it on his arm. “I don’t mean for this to be specific for the font, or anything, just placement. I want you to write it how you think it should be.”

Carl takes the book and looks at it for a moment, then hands it back to Harry and moves to make his own sketch on a separate piece of paper. He draws Harry’s star, then slowly draws the font around it. After a few minutes, he shows it to him. “Is this what you were thinking of? Feel free to change anything.”

“No, that’s great. I just want it for the words. If you could add ellipses on the end, though, that would be perfect.”

“Song lyrics?” Carl asks as he tacks three dots on to the edge of the paper.

“Sort of.” He slips the book back into his bag and gets comfortable in the chair. “I mixed two lines together.”

“It’s good. Really powerful. You ready?”

Harry nods and holds out his arm to be cleaned, positioned, and prepared. The actual process of being tattooed doesn’t take too long – Harry guesses a half hour at most, and he’s able to zone out, listening to the hum of the gun as the needles move through his arm, inking the black lettering onto his skin. It really is another one of those “good” hurts – he’s personalizing his body, making it his, and of course the process of doing so won’t be one-hundred percent smooth sailing, but the end product is more than worth it.

Carl finishes, and nudges Harry to take a look. It’s perfect; it really is, curving around his bicep in the star as if a part of a frame. He thanks Carl, lets him bandage it up for the next few hours, pays, and dashes back to campus just in time for his second lecture.

_Taylor Mayhew_

_You didn’t miss much! Hope you’re not ill, I’ll bring the notes tonight to pass them on to you. xx_

When he does show up to the auditorium that night, he’s greeted with questioning glances from his friends. It’s only the four of them there at the moment, plus Harry, and he drops his bag and coat to the ground as he closes in on their circular conversation. “Hi lads,” he greets as he slings an arm around Louis’ waist, but stops short of anything else when he sees Zayn and Liam and the looks that Louis and Niall are shooting them.

“It’s not that it’s bad, Liam, it’s just…” Niall says, shutting up when Zayn glares at him.

Harry looks closer, and he realizes – Liam has what is essentially a buzzcut and Zayn’s blonde streak is gone. His hair is all black, and Liam barely has any left.

“Doesn’t matter if you think it’s bad or not, Niall, he wanted a change,” Zayn argues, crossing his arms. “And I dunno why you’re looking at me all funny, you’ve been bugging me to get rid of the blonde for ages.”

Louis leans into Harry and shrugs. “I like it. Like you said, a change, but I think it’s odd you both just ditched lecture and ran off to the salon without telling anyone.”

“It was not a salon, Tomlinson,” Liam says crossly. “…It was a parlor.”

Louis laughs. He turns to Harry. “So you’re the deciding factor, Haz, your thoughts on our roommates’ shenanigans?”

Harry smirks. “Nice heads, mates. I can’t talk, though, I went off and got inked this afternoon.”

Louis pulls back, clearly looking for the telltale bandage on his body. “Well isn’t today the day for bodily alterations,” he drawls, eyes landing upon Harry’s arm. His eyes widen and he looks almost concerned. “Wait, what did you do to the star?”

Off to the side, Niall laughs.

“Nothing, don’t worry, Lou.” And Niall gags. “It’s just in the same area.”

Harry turns to the Irishman and rolls his eyes playfully. “Stop slagging off on me. What do you need help with?”

Niall shoves a few microphones into his hands. “’M sick of these, they’re not working right. Full of feedback. Fix them for me.”

“Okay.” Harry sets them down gently and drops down to the floor. It’s annoying, having to put everything together beforehand every week, and clean it up immediately after, but there are a few other productions going on in the theatre right now.

“You told me you weren’t going today!” Zayn exclaims, falling next to him to help with the mess of cords.

“Oh, yeah.” Harry looks down. “I, uh, changed my mind.”

“Wait, Zayn knew?” Louis asks, joining them to “help” with the electronics. “Why?”

“Well to be fair, I didn’t know,” Zayn adds. “He just asked where I get inked and said he was planning a piece.”

“Still!”

Harry shrugs. “Well to be honest, I just wanted to be on my own to get it done. Had a bad experience bringing people when I got the star.” He laughs. “I think I can take this off now, I’m gonna go in the back to rinse it.” There are more than enough people tending to the mess that Niall made.

Louis bounces up along with him. “Can I come?”

“Yeah, you can put the cream on.” They head backstage after Harry grabs the tube of ointment from his bag to a chorus of snickers and mockery from their friends.

Harry distinctly hears a high-pitched “Can I _come_?” from Zayn and a low and gravelly “Yeah baby, put the cream all over me,” from Liam. He raises his hand and flips them off from behind before the door slams shut into the green room.

Harry sits on one of the dressing tables, peeling the gauze off slowly. Louis peers over him, curious, intrigued, and possibly a little intimidated. “So you just got it done? Like that?”

Harry nods and gives the gauze a final tug before the ink is revealed. “I’d been wanting another one for a while. But I got the idea last night. So I went for it.” He shows it to Louis, smiling.

“Won’t stop ‘till we surrender.” Louis traces his fingers along Harry’s arm, careful to avoid the actual tattoo. “That’s from a song, innit?”

Harry looks down at it again before turning to the sink, running the water, and soaping up his right hand. “Kind of. I put two lines together.”

Louis watches him wash his arm down and dry it. It’s starting to itch a little, and Harry is careful not to rub too hard, opting for a pat down instead.

“I like it,” Louis whispers softly.

“Thanks. And, Lou, it really wasn’t anything personal to you, or anyone, that I went off on my own today. I wouldn’t have mentioned it to Zayn except I needed a referral. I just really wanted to get it done by myself.”

“No, no offense taken. Did it hurt?”

Harry just winks at him.

“Oh my god. _Really_? You got off on that?” Louis’ eyes widen and he puts his hand back on Harry’s bicep, squeezing a little.”

He laughs and passes the cream to Louis. “Just, like, rub it on and around gently. Not too hard or back and forth. And _no_ , I didn’t _get off_ on it, that wouldn’t be very...nice to the artist. But it was – it was enjoyable, I guess. Definitely not unpleasant.”

Harry swivels to face Louis directly and holds his arm out. Louis tentatively presses his lotion-clad fingers to Harry’s arm and starts to massage it in. Harry hums contentedly.

“You know, I think I might want one sometime,” Louis muses.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Louis continues to rub and it feels really good. It takes the edge off of the itch in an utterly pleasurable way. “I used to…not like them, really, I actually let it color my judgment of Zayn when I first met him.”

Harry snorts. “That must’ve gone over well.”

“Turned out all right.” He smiles. “But then I see how much effort Zayn puts into them, and I really, _really_ like them on you. Even more so now.”

“You should think about it. If it helps, I think you’d look great with one on your arm or summat.” Harry winks with a cheeky smile.

“You’d come with me if I asked, right?”

“Absolutely. Hold your hand the whole way through.”

Louis washes his hands and caps the lotion bottle. He presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Thanks, love.”

Harry is about to grab him by the back of his head and pull him into a proper snog, but at that moment Niall barges through the door with purpose. “Oi! No fucking back here. And people are arriving, get your arses out here and be good hosts.”

It’s another full and successful night. As Louis comes onstage he makes a little announcement to the crowd. “We need a name, Manchester! Give us your suggestions to Curly, Shorty, or Blondie over there on your left and we’ll announce our favorite next week!” He’s met with cheers from the crowd and dull looks of “Really, Louis, Really?” from the alleged Shorty and Blondie.

“Not even completely blonde,” Niall mutters.

“I’m not short, it’s just my hair,” Liam adds.

Harry throws in “Curly’s a kid’s name” for good measure but he sort of appreciates the nod. It’s nice to have Louis address him to a crowd like that, even if it is in conjunction with Niall and Liam.

Two people shuffle in behind them a few minutes into the show and he tries to sink comfortably into Taylor’s hands on his shoulders and the whispered greeting in his ear.

About halfway through the night, Liam and Niall perform another one of Liam’s songs acoustically, and it’s a hit as always. Harry thinks they really work together.

When Harry goes up, he motions for Zayn to pop the CD he gave him into his laptop. He’d planned on singing _Summer of ’69_ – it was one of White Eskimo’s classics, and he’d always thought that it suited his voice well. He also really wants to add a spot of an upbeat, cheery atmosphere into the dreary November day.

When he takes his stance at the microphone, though, Chelsea calls out to him from her seat next to Taylor and behind Niall. “Do something for Taylor!”

Taylor gives her friend a gentle shove but looks up to Harry, grinning expectantly. “If you don’t mind,” she says coyly.

And he freezes. This isn’t…he doesn’t really want to, at all…Louis is coughing incredibly loudly into his microphone and that really isn’t necessary either.

“Um, I prepared something…” He tries to smile. “Maybe next week?”

“Oh, come on, Harry!” Chelsea says. “Ooh, I know one! _Love is Easy_ , by McFly, you should have that in your library, right, Zayn?”

“I love McFly!” Niall adds, shouting out probably the most unhelpful thing that he could in the moment.

Zayn looks at Harry, waiting for an answer. “Yeah, sure,” he mutters, adjusting the stand and listening to Louis’ loud sigh as he leans against the proscenium and doesn’t bother to cover his microphone.

Harry focuses on the karaoke screens for the first time in weeks as the lyrics start to scroll through, and, wow, talk about irony.

No offense to Niall or anything, but he kind of hates Chelsea right now.

_“If this is love,  
Then love is easy”_

At least the song fits his voice well. He catches on quickly and is comfortable in it.  
  
 _“A simple equation,_  
With no complications,  
To leave you confused,  
If this is love, love, love,  
Hmm it's the easiest thing to do”

Soon enough he finishes and tries to make eye contact with Louis for just a second, but he’s staring at the ground uncomfortably. He squeezes past Liam and Niall to sit, in front of Taylor of course. He thinks he hears Liam turn around and mutter, “A bit early for love songs, innit?” to Chelsea, and at least that gives him a laugh for a second.

“Thanks Harry,” Taylor leans in to tell him.

He turns around a little and manages a smile. “It’s a nice song to sing,” he tells her, and, for what seems like the hundredth time this week, he takes care to point out to himself that it isn’t exactly a lie.

She lets her fingers fall to his arm. “I didn’t know you had tattoos.”

“Oh, yeah,” he pulls his sleeve up a little to fully reveal the star and quote. “I’ve had the star for a few months. Guess it never showed through my shirt. I got the words just today, though.”

“That’s why you missed lecture? That’s cute, I’ll have to look –”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, though, because Louis coughs loudly into the microphone again – and yeah, it’s starting to annoy Harry now – and announces, “Right, thanks Curly, but we still have a good hour left tonight, so if we could all _pay attention_ to the next performer…”

Taylor stops talking, but she leaves her hands on Harry.

Once Louis wraps the evening up and everyone starts leaving, Taylor and Chelsea insist on staying to help clean up.

“Oh, it really isn’t necessary, we can get it…” Louis tries to insist, but they brush him off and start winding cords up.

Harry is standing by the stepladder, holding it in place for Louis while he slides a lighting gel out, when Taylor comes up behind him. “Let me see your tattoo now!”

Louis grunts, and while the sound could be mistaken for frustration with the lighting fixture, Harry knows that it isn’t.

“Don’t come down yet,” Harry warns up as he steps away from the ladder. He rolls his sleeve up and points at the words. “Here.”

She traces them in a manner all too similar to how Louis did. “It’s poetic. Did you write it?”

“No, it’s from a song,” Harry says, not feeling the need to give her the whole story.

“That’s nice. Does it have a special meaning?”

Harry shrugs. “Just one of my favorite songs, is all. It was played at Leeds Festival last year, so I’ve liked it for a while.”

Taylor’s eyes close in on the dark spot in his star. It’s from Louis, yesterday morning, and he really doesn’t need to be ashamed of it. They’re not exclusive. They never had an exclusivity talk, and Harry intends on bringing up that he isn’t ready for that should the conversation arise.

“Harry!” She laughs and squeezes his arm affectionately before throwing him a wink.

“Yeah, _Harry_ , I need a hand,” Louis calls, still high on the stepladder. Harry moves back over quickly, grabbing the sides of the ladder and not responding to Taylor’s exclamation with anything other than a slight blush.

She follows him, taking hold of the ladder as well and leaning in to him. “Where’d you get that from?” She questions playfully, not accusing him of any wrong-doing at all, but he’s still uncomfortable with it.

Louis jumps down when he hits the second to last step and sets the gel onto one of the rungs. “I gave him it.”

Taylor just laughs as Harry’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest. “Of course you did, Louis.” She starts to walk over to Chelsea but turns back at the last minute and talks directly to him. “Oh, Eleanor, your girlfriend, she’s really nice. She’s the program assistant for one of my lectures and we got talking the other day. The four of us should go out sometime!”

Louis just blinks back at her. “Okay? Maybe.”

She seems satisfied with that answer and moves over to Chelsea.

Harry leans into the ladder and steadies his breathing for a minute. Then he picks it up, letting Louis grab the falling gel, and takes it backstage.

“What was _that_ about?” he asks as Louis comes up beside him.

“Sorry if I didn’t enjoy someone being all up in my boyfriend,” he hisses.

“No, you were like that all night. And it wasn’t necessary. It was rude.” Harry lets the ladder clatter into a corner as he turns to face Louis, both of their arms crossed.

“She was being way over the top. You know, she _should_ spend more time with Eleanor, she knows how to do it without being a prick.”

Harry is oddly uncomfortable with Louis defending, complimenting Eleanor like this, especially considering the circumstances. “Shove off it. And don’t compare, people have different ways of going about it.”

Louis crosses his arms tighter and pouts. He fucking _pouts_.

Harry leans his bum against the table behind him. “Don’t do that. And yeah, speaking of Eleanor, maybe you have some idea of how I’ve been feeling for the past few months?”

“Two months,” Louis spits, and it hits Harry harder than it should. “Different styles and all that shit, sure, but she drops the act when she doesn’t have to play it.”

Harry hesitates before saying, “She’s doing enough, I’m not going to tell her to change. You told me to thank her yesterday, I really don’t understand why you’re being so difficult now.”

“I like having Mondays just the five of us.”

Harry grunts. “Yeah, me too, but I’m not going to tell her to stop coming. You know, I like going out with you on Saturday nights. I like sitting close to the pitch during games. I like dancing with you at pubs. We can’t all have what we like.”

Louis relaxes his arms and turns so he’s sitting next to Harry. “I know. I’m…jealous,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Harry fakes an astounded gasp. “I don’t believe it, Tomlinson.”

Louis gives him a gentle shove. “That wasn’t easy to say, you know.”

Harry is about to respond but Taylor pops her head around the corner at that moment. “We’re heading out, okay? See you tomorrow, maybe?”

“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

Louis tenses up beside him.

“Sure. I left a copy of the notes from today in your bag, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, Harry, see you later. Bye, Louis!”

Louis smiles – though not genuinely, Harry can tell – and waves back at her. She darts off with Chelsea and Harry turns back to his boyfriend.

“Sorry. I know that it’s not easy. You have _man pride_ , Louis,” Harry teases.

Louis sighs. “Yes, it sounds all right when you put it that way.”

They sit in silence for a few moments – well, not silence, as Niall, Liam, and Zayn have launched into another argument concerning the state of what’s covering, or rather, not covering, Liam’s head, but they go without speaking.

“I’m not trying to punish you,” Harry says softly. “It kind of sounded like that a minute ago. But…that’s not what this is about.”

“Okay.” Louis kicks at the cement floor underneath them, scattering piles of dust with his Vans.

“Did you think that it was?” Harry turns to look at Louis and sees that his face is small, vulnerable, and Harry almost wants to cry.

“Not until tonight. She’s…really intense, okay, having her hands all over you and whispering to you and asking what your tattoos are about.” He looks at Harry and pouts a little again.

“She’s my friend, you know. She’s allowed to ask about my tattoos.”

“I know.”

“And you and Eleanor kiss at football games. I can’t sit anywhere that would indicate I’m anything more than a casual friend when I go. Again, Lou, that’s not fun, either.”

“I’m sorry.”

Harry rolls his face against Louis’ shoulder. “Don’t apologize, but this is a two-sided effort, so it’s going to be two sides of a little suck, too.”

Louis sighs heavily and lets his head loll onto Harry’s. “That makes sense.”

“I…can ask her to tone it down. Here, at least.” They need to have that exclusivity talk, anyway.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s not,” Harry murmurs into Louis’ ear, kissing it lightly.

Louis sits up straighter and brushes Harry’s cheek with his thumb. “Yeah. It is what it is.”

*

“Isn’t this the kind of thing you’d be doing with Louis? Considering what he studies and all,” Liam asks, splayed out on his bed. “If you could, of course,” he’s quick to add.

Harry zips the heels of his boots up and grabs his coat off of the wall. “Dunno. He has practice tonight, anyway, and it’s the last performance. Sure you don’t wanna come?”

Liam sighs heavily, grabs one of his textbooks, and lays it flat on his stomach. “I have a fucking exam tomorrow. I can’t. But no, you go, I’ll just lie here and slowly wither away as I pick through microeconomics. Have fun. Tell Zayn I love him. Actually, don’t. Don’t do that.”

Harry laughs. “Good luck with that, mate.”

Harry takes the stairs and leaves the dormitory, following the usual path to the auditorium. Yes, he’s headed there again, but it’s a Wednesday and not for karaoke. Zayn has to catch a performance of one of the university’s plays for class and Harry gladly volunteered to join him. Niall had made a face and said that it wasn’t his type of night out, that he had plans with Chelsea anyway, and of course Louis and Liam are busy.

He enters the building and sees Zayn standing by the doors, waving two tickets. “Looked like it was gonna sell out, so I just grabbed yours.”

“How much?” Harry asks, taking the ticket and passing it to the usher as they enter the theatre.

“Five pounds,” Zayn says as they sidle into one of the middle aisles and take their seats. Harry pays him back and turns to the program – _Six Characters in Search of an Author_.

“Do you know anyone in this?”

“No, but I read up a bit on the show earlier.”

Harry looks at him expectantly.

“Yeah, it looks really screwy.”

He laughs. “Right up my alley, then.”

They go a few minutes without talking as they page through the playbill, and as Harry reads the synopsis of the show he sees what Zayn’s talking about. He closes it and decides to just watch it play out before him.

“How’s Liam?” Zayn asks him. “I know he has an exam tomorrow.”

Harry laughs, stretching his legs out. “Currently drowning in textbooks and notes, as far as I know.” He pauses, then adds, “Um, this is a weird question, but do you know why he basically shaved his head? I was going to ask him but he seemed a little sketchy about it the other day when he got it done.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he cares if you know. Niall and Louis were just giving him a rough time before you came in and he got on the defensive. I mean, all I know is that he was talking about how he wants to…distance himself, from his X Factor persona, while he still can.”

“Oh.”

“It sounds like he’s seriously considering going back when they yank him in for another album. So for now I think he wanted to be a little less recognizable before it gets crazy again.”

“Oh,” Harry repeats. “Good for him, I guess, but I feel bad that he’s getting roped back in.”

“Mmm,” Zayn hums. “I think it might be his choice. From all he’s told me it’s that he wanted to escape the shit of the entertainment industry. But, you know, he’s seeing that you can’t always do that.”

“Yeah. Life…is fucked up,” Harry agrees.

“I could toast you to that.”

Harry’s about to ask what he means when the house lights dim and the curtain rises.

It’s weird, he thinks, seeing a complete story play out on their Monday night stomping grounds. He tries to make sense of the actual plot of the story, though, and is fairly unable to. He had told Zayn he appreciates a screwy, fucked up story, and he does, but he has to be able to make sense of it to be able to do that. His mind inevitably drifts. One thing that he does pick up from the stage is that there are a multitude of lies within the family that impedes upon the director’s – the character of the director’s, that is – rehearsal and he nearly groans in his seat, so frustrated that he can’t escape reminders of what’s surrounding him with Taylor.

He’s hoping that it’s not too bad now, ever since he had lunch with her yesterday and explained that while she’s a lovely girl – which is true – he doesn’t really want to commit to an actual relationship right now and he hopes that she didn’t get the wrong picture. She took it well, saying that she understood, what with Christmas holidays coming up and all, and that she was happy to just take things slowly for the time being.

So there’s that. He’s living a bit less of a lie, but can’t shake off the feeling that he’s somehow cheating on both her and Louis. That he’s in two relationships at once, even though he really isn’t, and because of his idiocy in the beginning he’s trapped in this and has to ride it out the best that he can.

He and Zayn leave the theatre, wrapping their coats tightly around them as they’re met with a strong gust of frigid wind.

“Do you have to write about that?” Harry asks him. “Because if you do, like, you have my sympathy…”

Zayn laughs. “I do. But no worries, mate, I think I’ll be able to come up with something. It’s kind of interesting, when you think about it. It questions reality.”

“Oh, I liked it,” Harry says quickly. He knows that Zayn thinks highly of his alleged intelligence – for God knows what reasons why – and doesn’t want him to start thinking that he’s just a dumb fresher after all. “I’ll just…have to think about it more, I guess.”

“Louis’ll be back now,” Zayn says as they come up to the divergence between his flat and the dormitories. “Were you planning on coming over?”

Harry pauses, then shrugs. “Sure, if you don’t mind. I’m not going up with him, and it’s late, so it should be okay. And I know Liam will appreciate having the room alone, you know, to shed tears of anxiety in, what with the exam and all.”

“Of course. Just, you know. I’m right next door,” he says with a wink.

Harry punches him and he cracks up.

“Honey, we’re home,” Zayn calls with a joke as they enter the flat.

Louis is sitting on the couch in his boxers, eating corn flakes and watching reality television. He turns to them and waves, smiling brighter when he sees that Harry’s there. Harry hangs his coat up and walks over, pointing at the telly accusingly.

“You told me that my dramas were shit. You have no room to talk.”

Louis shrugs happily through a mouthful of cereal and scoots over to make room for Harry.

“Anyone want a smoke?” Zayn calls from his bedroom.

Louis groans and sets his bowl on the coffee table. “He found a new dealer,” he tells Harry in a whisper. “And fucking _no_ ,” he shouts out to Zayn. “You know that I can’t fucking light up during the season, and especially not now.”

Zayn laughs maniacally. “Harry?”

Harry sees the depressed and disappointed look on Louis’ face. “’M good mate, thanks.” He leans down to Louis and whispers, “In the mood for a different high tonight.”

Louis groans and flings his head back on the sofa. “Yeah, get out, would you?” he yells to Zayn again. “I don’t need you stinking up my flat with your contraband.”

Zayn comes out of his room with a brown paper bag. “Get all of your noise out in the next hour, yeah?” he teases as he leaves the flat.

Harry wastes no time, curling into Louis and rubbing his head on his chest. “You heard the man,” he murmurs. “Gonna make me scream now?”

“Oh Jesus fuck,” Louis mutters, grabbing Harry’s head and bringing him up into a kiss. “Jumping right into it, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Harry licks into Louis’ mouth, crawling onto his lap properly and grinding down.

Louis grabs Harry by the curls and yanks his head back to allow him deeper access to his neck. “Fuck, Harry.”

“Yes,” Harry says, talking to the ceiling. “Fuck Harry. Please.”

Louis ruts up into him, still sucking on his neck and moaning. “Jesus Christ, this escalated quickly.”

“Already said that,” Harry breathes. “The sentiment.”

Louis laughs and jerks Harry’s face back down so they’re eye-to-eye again. “Are you complaining about how I talk dirty to you?”

Harry licks his lips and nods. “I am. You should get more creative.” He leans down and licks into Louis’ ear, eliciting another moan from his lips.

“What d’you want me to say?” Louis asks, gripping Harry’s arse tightly.

“What’re you gonna do to me? Tell me.”

Louis’ hand slinks up the back of his shirt and rake down gently. His nails are too short to cause any actual scratches but Harry certainly feels the friction and it’s absolutely delicious. His hands drop back to his bum quickly, though, and both grip it hard. “Gonna smack you.”

_Oh, fuck._ Harry feels his cock harden inside of his skinnies and rub against Louis, only in pants, and he wants to get them off, off, off, as soon as possible. He grinds against Louis, whimpering. “Want you to do that, yeah,” he breathes.

“Can we go to bed?” Louis asks, tugging on Harry’s shirt.

“Uh huh.” Harry gets up, whining involuntary at the loss of contact, but basically trips over himself in his rush to get into bed, Louis hot on his heels. They fall in together, laughing as Harry kicks his shoes off and Louis starts pulling his shirt off for him, running his hands over his expanse of skin over and over again.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, pressing random kisses along his stomach.

Harry leans back and laughs, letting Louis get to work on his jeans as well.

“I think these get tighter every day,” he mutters as he pushes them off of his hips, then thighs, then knees, until he can finally give a yank by the ankle and toss them onto the ground. He runs his hand over Harry’s pants, just ghosting over the tent that his dick has made, and Harry groans, arching his back.

“Touch me,” he utters.

“Not yet,” Louis says decisively. “At least not your cock. Turn around, okay?”

Harry nods and obliges, flipping onto his stomach. He can’t see Louis anymore, he just stares ahead at the pillows and headboard in front of him, but he can _feel_. Louis slides a hand over his arse, not exactly gripping him, but giving slight squeezes as he passes.

“You want me to smack you?” he asks, clearly wanting to get the absolute okay from Harry, but at the same time he does so in a voice far deeper than his usual. By now it’s downright painful for Harry to be lying against the mattress with his dick so hard and pressed in, constrained by both the pressure and his pants.

“Yes,” Harry ekes out in a strangled voice. “Please. Take my pants off, please.”

Louis laughs as he squeezes again – harder, this time – and toys with the waistband. “Maybe we’ll compromise.”

Harry tries to stutter out a question but fails.

He understands what Louis means, though, when he slips the waistband below his bum but leaves them on, still constraining his dick and lying against the bottom of his cheeks.

“Louis…” he breathes, nearly begging. It’s amazing how far he’s gone in the span of five, ten minutes. He thinks that if Louis just slipped a few fingers quickly in now he’d be ready to be fucked in another two, and coming in five. He really wants to come.

It seems that he said that out loud, as Louis clucks, “Not yet. You said you wanted _this_.” He presses a hand to Harry’s arse quickly, pressing down before he raises it and comes down with a loud _smack_.

A moan escapes from Harry’s mouth before he’s even able to process what just happened, and all he feels is the stinging relief that came from Louis’ action. “Oh my God,” he breathes.

Louis massages his bum softly. “Liked that, baby?”

Harry grinds up into Louis’ hand, desperate for some sort of relief on the part of his cock. He whimpers softly.

“What was that? Didn’t quite catch you.”

God, Louis isn’t going to make this easy. Harry is even more turned on, if that’s even possible, after this realization. “Liked it a lot,” he manages, still rutting against his hand.

“Do you want me hit you again?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Then you’re gonna have to stop moving, because it’s not gonna work that way.”

Harry moans, but lies still as Louis runs a hand from his arse to his neck and back again. And then – _smack_. “Fuck!” Harry calls out, relishing the sting and wanting _more more more_. “More, Lou,” he breathes, not realizing until now that he’s been biting into his hand for the whole time. It shows, teeth marks, whiteness, and all.

Louis shifts his positioning a little, and Harry vaguely registers that he’s slipping out of his own pants before lying next to Harry on his side, keeping one hand planted firmly to his arse. “Does it hurt?” he whispers into his ear.

“So much,” Harry breathes. “So good.”

“’M gonna do it three more times,” Louis continues, still lips-to-ear. “And then I’m going to fuck you from behind until you’re coming into my sheets, okay?”

_For fuck’s sake_. “Okay,” Harry squeaks, quite sure that his voice has reached a register that it hasn’t for ten or fifteen years.

Louis slaps again, murmuring “One,” into Harry’s ear.

It takes every bit of self-control that Harry doesn’t have left to avoid thrusting up again as he chokes out a sob.

“Two.” The sting hasn’t even faded from the first, and the second slap just compounds upon it.

Louis starts sucking on Harry’s neck, working it with his teeth and tongue as he raises his hand for a final time. “Three,” he says, groaning nearly as loud as Harry does, pulling away from his neck to go back to his ear. He starts massaging Harry’s arse again as he continues to whisper to him. “You were so good, love,” he coos. “Did that make you feel good, Hazza?”

Harry lets out a strangled cry. “So good, Lou, ‘m feeling so good right now.”

He presses a kiss to Harry’s sweaty hair. “I’m glad.”

He pulls away and Harry whimpers again, moving to roll around before he’s stopped by Louis’ command.

“Don’t move yet. Gonna fuck you like this, yeah? Let me get what I need.”

“Okay,” Harry breathes, falling back onto his stomach.

Louis returns quickly, although not quickly enough, and scoots back up so that he’s behind Harry’s arse. “Taking your pants off,” he says as he slips them down, flinging them behind him so they fall amongst the rest of his clothes.

Harry moans as his cock gets just a taste of freedom, no longer bound by the cotton boxers but still trapped between himself and the mattress. Louis picks up on it, nudging Harry up a little. “Hands and knees, yeah? Or elbows and knees, you should raise up, though.”

Harry does so, his limbs shaking all the while. His cock feels heavy as he gets up, and he can feel that it’s leaking precome and is swollen against him. “Lou…” he lets out. “Can you touch me?”

“No,” Louis says decisively. “Just your pretty little arse tonight.”

Harry groans in displeasure as he raises a hand to take the edge off of what he’s feeling in his dick.

Louis swats it away.

“ _Louis_.”

He hears the bottle of lube open and Louis spread his cheeks apart. “You know what I think you can do tonight?”

Harry lets his head hang down, already knowing the answer.

“I think you can come just from me fucking you alone.”

And Harry knows that he _can_ , but he doesn’t _want_ to.

That’s not entirely true, actually. He absolutely wants to, he wants to come in any way at all, and coming untouched sounds like it would be utterly _amazing_ , but he needs a hand on his cock right now, he doesn’t think that he can tolerate the pressure, the intensity, the desire without –

And _oh_. Louis presses a finger inside of Harry and he’s okay for a moment. “Yeah, like that,” is what escapes him as Louis starts to work him, in and out, slowly stretching him and preparing him for his cock.

“Oh, I like that,” he says again.

“Just like, Hazza?” Louis asks playfully as a he slips a second finger in and makes Harry moan even louder. “It sounds as if you more than _like_ having me finger fucking you.”

“Okay, yeah,” Harry breathes. “Love that. Love you inside me. Get your cock in me, now.”

Louis pumps his fingers for a minute, letting Harry grind back on them. He adds a third. “Patience, babe.”

“I don’t, can’t – come _on_ , _oh_!” he sobs as Louis’ fingers press against that sweet bundle of nerves. His limbs are shaking now, and he has to sink onto his forearms to steady himself as he keeps his arse in the air for Louis. “Can you get your dick in me, _now_?” he asks desperately.

Louis laughs, but pulls his fingers out. Harry whines as his hole clenches in on itself at the loss of contact.

“You asked,” Louis mutters as he fumbles with the condom and slides it onto himself, slicking up with lube as well. “Gonna fuck you now,” he says as he raises up and lines himself up with Harry’s hole. “You ready, love?” He squeezes Harry’s hips in his signature bruising manner.

“Yeah, yeah, please, Lou,” Harry whimpers. He whines as Louis presses in, his head pushing past the rim and spreading Harry wider than before.

“Oh, God,” Louis lets loose for the first time that night, moaning as loud as Harry and he pushes in further.

“Keep going,” Harry urges. He licks his lips and presses his head to the pillow, desperate for some sort of release soon.

Louis bottoms out, gripping Harry’s hips harder than ever. “Christ, Harry, you’re so tight, I feel so good in you.”

“Feels so good in me,” Harry repeats, trying to rock back on Louis but unable to with the death grip he has on him. “Fuck me now,” he states.

“Demanding, are we?” Louis teases before starting to rock, pulling out and thrusting back in inch by inch.

He’s soon fucking him without abandon, thrusting as Harry grinds back on him, both of their moans and whimpers echoing around and bouncing off of each other. They drown out the sound of Louis’ skin smacking against Harry’s, and with the pace they’re going at, it’s quite a feat.

“Wanna touch my cock,” Harry moans, begging. The need for release is unbearable at this point.

“No,” Louis utters, still insistent. “You’re gonna come soon, you’re not gonna touch.”

“Need to come,” Harry says.

Louis reaches forward, still fucking, and threads his fingers into Harry’s curls. “You can come, baby,” he says, giving a little tug.

“Yeah,” Harry sobs. “Gonna come.”

Louis leans even further forward so he can reach Harry’s ear. “Want you to come for me.” He yanks harder than before this time, and _yes_. Harry is coming, coming all over Louis’ sheets like he’d said, completely untouched since he’d lifted himself from the mattress. He cries out at the relief, pleasure coursing through him as Louis leans back up and continues to pound into him, moaning as he reaches his own orgasm soon enough. He rocks slowly before he pulls out, tying the condom and tossing it into the bin. Harry collapses once Louis has withdrawn, stretching out and lying flat on his stomach. He turns over, running his hand over his cock finally, once it’s gone soft, and shudders from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

This was definitely better than any marijuana high Zayn could offer.

Louis flops down beside him, sweaty and a mess. Harry turns to his left to look at him for the first time in a while, reaching a shaking hand up to stroke his face. “That was so good,” he whispers.

Louis surges forward to plant a kiss on his mouth. “Really good. But I prefer seeing you.”

Harry smiles into the kiss. “Mmhmm. Like seeing you, too.”

They rest like that for a while – Harry loses track of time and figures that it could have been five minutes or it could have been thirty – curled up in each other and whispering random, sweet nothings into the other’s ear.

Louis pulls back from where he was sucking into Harry’s neck and admires what he did. “Marked you up again.”

Harry nuzzles into his chest. “Good.”

“Should we shower?”

Harry nods. “Your bed is really sticky, too, should…”

Louis waves him off as they sit up. “We’ll lay a flannel down. I’ll clean it tomorrow.”

They’re about to leave before Louis grabs his pants and tosses Harry his pair as well. “Zayn might be back,” he points out.

Harry sighs and slips the boxers on.

Zayn comes back in just as they walk into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before the shower. He looks oddly perturbed. Harry blames it on the weed.

“’Sup, Zayn,” Louis says nonchalantly as he grabs an ice cube from the freezer.

“Hi,” Harry mutters as he turns the sink on.

“Um,” he says, staring at them.

“I think you need another new dealer, mate,” Louis suggests as he fills his cup up. He and Harry turn to look at Zayn, faces concerned as they sip their water.

“Shit, is he usually like this?” Harry asks, leaning into Louis against the counter. “Are you okay, Zayn? Bad high, need something?”

Zayn shakes his head and kicks his shoes off. “You two, I fucking swear,” he mutters.

“Pardon?” Louis asks, setting his cup down. “We’re worried, you know.”

“You are the kinkiest bastards I know,” he spits out, walking around to the couch.

“You just came back – we were done –” Harry spits out, confused as he and Louis follow him into the living room.

“Need another new dealer, you’re right, that stuff’s awful,” Zayn says. “I came back a while ago to throw it out and just grab my cigs, and the shit I heard, I fucking swear.”

Harry turns bright red as Louis cracks up. “Christ, Zayn, I thought you got jumped or something, the way you were acting. Relax, I promise you there’s kinkier. This isn’t even – it’s nothing, mate, calm down.” He heads to the bathroom and beckons Harry over.

“No fucking when I’m here!” Zayn calls after them. “And no _hitting_ , either.”

“Aren’t you embarrassed?” Harry hisses as they lock themselves in.

“It’s Zayn.” Louis brushes it off. “He really is on a bad high, though, I’ve seen it before, I promise he’s not judging or anything.” He turns the water on and slips out of his pants, and Harry follows.

“You sure?”

“It’s Zayn,” Louis repeats, stepping into the shower and holding the curtain open for Harry. “I have it on good account that he’s into his own share of kinky stuff as well. He’ll probably apologize tomorrow, if he remembers.”

Harry steps under the spray. “I am completely fine with it if he doesn’t.”

Louis laughs and pulls him into a kiss, the water falling between them. “You’re cute, Hazza, never change.”


	13. Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooookay I meant to get this out earlier. But then something not so chill happened last night, if you know what I mean, and I've been crazy distracted for the past 24 hours.
> 
> One of the organizers behind Rainbow Direction had the great idea of trending #rainforharry in support of this nasty fuckery he's going through, and you can use the hashtag in pretty much any supportive context. Talking about his authenticity, how we know who the real Harry is, how he's sending us the messages that he can loud and clear. Etc.
> 
> /steps off of soapbox.
> 
> Regardless, I hope this chapter is enjoyed. It's a bit dialogue heavy, but important things happen. :-)

“Harry.”

Harry turns onto his side and pulls his comforter over his head.

“Styles.”

He grunts.

“Harry I-Don’t-Know-Your-Second-Name Styles, wake your arse up and answer your phone, it’s fucking loud!” Liam throws a pillow at him.

Harry grunts again but flips his blanket off this time and sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Edward,” he mumbles, reaching for his phone. He has seven text messages from the past five minutes. “Wasn’t even ringing, Liam, ‘s just texts.”

Liam jumps up and snatches his pillow back from Harry’s bed before disappearing into his own comforter again. “I don’t give a damn, tell whoever it is trying to get to you at this godforsaken hour to shut up or turn your notifications off.”

“It’s eleven,” Harry points out, only to earn Liam flipping him off.

“’S Saturday.”

Harry laughs and yawns simultaneously before looking down at his phone again. “Love you, Leeyum.”

There are a few moments of silence before Liam mutters, “Love you too, Curly.”

_Louis the Tommo_

_Harold, wake up, the sun is shining, and I’m getting inked today._

_Louis the Tommo_

_If you come with me you’ll be able to see what I’m getting._

_Louis the Tommo_

_Why are you ignoring me, sleepyhead?_

_Louis the Tommo_

_WAKE UP_

_Louis the Tommo_

_There’s gonna be a line, do I need to get Zayn to go bang on your door? Liam won’t appreciate that. Or maybe he will. Hehehe don’t tell him I said that._

_Louis the Tommo_

_GET YER ARSE UP_

_Louis the Tommo_

_…Or I’ll have to spank it. ;) ;) ;)_

_Jesus Christ._ Harry shakes his head out, trying to knock out the shock of arousal that just jolted through his body. He responds before another message comes through and he gets pelted with a pillow again. _Liam’s already unappreciative from all the messages. But what time are you thinking? :)_

He gets up and starts to get dressed while he waits for a response. He has a clean pair of pants on and his head halfway through his favorite orange jumper before his phone buzzes again and he makes a dive for it.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Meet us at the bus stop in twenty !!!_

And Harry’s there, unshowered and hurriedly put together, but he makes it to the stop on the far corner of campus to find Louis and Zayn waiting there, chipper. He slips in between them and gives Louis a quick squeeze. “You ready?” he asks with a smile.

Louis nods excitedly, taking his phone out and flipping through it until he lands on a picture, showing it to Harry. It’s taken from the tattoos page of his leather book, a stickman with a skateboard that Harry had absentmindedly drawn one day after being advised that simple lines and angles were best for a first tattoo. He’s suddenly very glad that he had decided not to get it after all.

“You’re getting my drawing.”

“I like it.” Louis shrugs and slips his phone back into his coat pocket as the bus pulls up and the three of them board.

Zayn gags as he drops a pound into the kiosk by the driver. He and Louis slip into a row and Harry gets in front of them, turning around so that they can continue their conversation.

“I think I might want something again too,” Harry muses.

Zayn perks up with interest. “Yeah? What?”

“I’ve always wanted my life tattooed on me, you know?” His voice drops to a whisper. “I want something for my mum, I think. That’s, like, dumb though, innit?”

“Haz, that’s really fucking sweet,” Louis cuts in.

“If you want it, go for it,” Zayn says. “Don’t let anyone tell you that what you want inked on your body is dumb.”

Harry nods. “Maybe an initial. Her name is Anne, so I think that an ‘A’ in a fancy script would look good.”

“Though…” Zayn pauses and laughs. “How is she with tats? Just, irony and all.”

Harry shrugs. “She liked the star.”

Zayn gives him a thumbs-up. “Go for it, mate.”

They enter the shop, and there aren’t too many people there. They’re told by the receptionist that it should be a ten to fifteen minute wait and they cross to settle into the chairs lined up against the far wall. Harry laughs when he sees the same girls from last time there, sitting across from them, murmuring and showing each other fake IDs.

He leans into Louis. “They got turned away when I was here the first time. Back again.”

Louis laughs and is about to respond when his phone rings. He snatches it, answering quickly, and coughs loudly. “Hi David,” he wheezes out. “Yeah –” cough “’M ill –” cough “Fine for later, I think –” cough “I will –.” He coughs one last time as he hangs up and puts his phone away.

Harry and Zayn look at him, their faces demanding an explanation.

Louis shrugs and waves them off. “There’s practice this morning, but it’s not a big deal, I can miss it.”

Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Is that really a good idea, Louis? I mean…”

“No, it’s fine Haz, really. I want to get this done, and I won’t have much of a chance after today.”

“You didn’t think of next weekend?” Zayn asks. “I mean, your last practice of the year is on Friday.”

“You know my schedule better than I do. Except for where it matters, because a week from today we’ll all be on a train to London.”

And even Harry had forgotten, with the onslaught of work they’ve had poured onto them no thanks to the upcoming holiday. But just earlier this week Liam had sat them down and asked in earnest for the four of them to accompany him to London for the X Factor finals. They’re heading out Saturday morning and Liam said that once he has his itinerary he’ll pass it around so they know what they’re doing. He’s promised parties and drinking and seats to the finals where he’s performing.

More than anything, Harry’s looking forward to getting out of Manchester, and not to somewhere like Exeter where Louis’ still on the clock, but a city as big as London where they can blend in and maybe even be normal for a few days. If anything, there will be no hotel room drama.

“Anyway,” Louis continues, “It’s not even an actual game later today. Just a scrimmage, a practice with Manchester College. So my not being there right now isn’t the end of the world.”

Zayn gives Louis an alarmed look. “I don’t think you’re supposed to exercise right after getting inked.”

“Oh, you’re the absolute expert on that, mate, what with your utter athleticism and all.” He rolls his eyes but still laughs, turning to Harry and pretending to pass on a secret. “Zayn cannot run for the life of him. He looks like a chicken, bobbing his head.” Louis demonstrates and Harry cracks up. He looks absolutely ridiculous and Harry just wants to grab his head and kiss the ever-loving daylights out of him. He has to grip the armrests of his chair to restrain himself, opting to giggle like a child instead.

Zayn gives Louis a light punch. “Big whoop, Tommo.” He leans in front of Louis to talk to Harry, asking, “Where are you getting it? Your tattoo.”

Harry looks down at himself, thinking. “I mean, I guess I should have thought this through more because a jumper isn’t the most convenient thing to be wearing if I was gonna get it on my arm.”

Zayn pulls his own top aside to reveal a tattoo on his collarbone area in Arabic. “I really like this placement. You could just pull the neck down and it would work.”

“Yes, that would work, very much so,” Louis adds with a wink.

Harry does as Zayn suggests and runs his fingers against his skin. He comes to a rest in the space between his shoulder and collarbone, rubbing it softly. “I like this spot.” He looks up at the other two and they nod in approval. Harry grabs a pen from the table next to him and pokes at the spot, leaving a few dots. “I think I want it loopy script. She’s very…elegant.”

Zayn nods toward the pen. “Want me to sketch it? See what it’s like.”

“Yeah.” He gets up and drops into Louis’ lap without thinking, passing the pen to Zayn and adjusting his jumper so that it’s further down on his shoulder.

Louis coughs and shifts underneath Harry. “How very…scandalous, Harold,” he mutters under his breath.

Zayn scoffs and leans into Harry’s shoulder more. “I just need to reach, be quiet, Louis.” He strokes the pen along Harry’s body quickly, pulling away and gesturing for him to look. “Is that like what you want?”

Harry drops his head, eyes finding the pen markings. It’s soft and elegant, just as he had mentioned, and if there was ever a design that could sum up his mother in two or three centimeters, this is it. “Oh, I really like that, Zayn. Do you think he can just tattoo right over it?”

“Nah, he’ll have to clean it, but he’ll take a picture or whatever to get it right.”

Harry leans in and plants a kiss on Zayn’s head. “You’re a good artist.”

“Oi!” Louis screeches unnecessarily loudly.

“How very scandalous,” Harry taunts back, unable to stop himself from grinding down just the slightest as he stands back up and moves to his own seat.

“Just an A,” Zayn mumbles, but he looks pleased.

Carl comes out for them – not before turning away the underage girls again, though – and takes the three of them into the back room.

“Hi Carl,” Zayn greets as he settles into a chair by the door. “This is my flatmate Louis, and I think you’ve met Harry before?”

“Yeah, we worked together last week. Who’s getting inked today?”

Harry and Louis point to each other.

“Okay,” Carl chuckles. “Who’s first, then?”

Again, they point to each other.

“No, Louis, you go,” Harry insists. “I’m just getting it as an afterthought, we came for you.”

A blush creeps up Louis’ cheek and he nudges Harry’s foot with his own. “Yeah, but…”

Carl sits down, getting his tools ready. “Is this your first time, Louis?”

“It is,” Zayn chimes in helpfully and with the hint of a smirk behind his voice. “When I met him he said that he’d never get one. Couldn’t begin to guess what made him change his mind,” he finishes with a wink.

“Shut _up_ , Malik,” Louis hisses. And Harry can’t help but smile, because Louis is endearing even when he’s trying to mask his anxiety.

“I can go first,” Harry volunteers easily. “Then you can see how it goes.”

Louis shrugs, obviously trying to appear nonchalant about the matter. “If you want.”

Harry takes a seat in the chair and adjusts his jumper again. “Yeah, of course.”

“Back so soon?” Carl teases. “What’s up this time?”

Harry indicates the A temporarily inked on his skin by Zayn. “I dunno if you could take a picture of that or something, so you have it as a reference?”

“Yeah, of course. Louis, you can sit on the other side of the chair if you want to.”

Louis nods and slips in beside Harry as Carl gets to work. He winds his hand into Harry’s and peers over the armrest, watching intently. Harry bites his lip, suddenly self-conscious with Louis’ eyes on him. Louis flinches as the ink gun starts up and Carl moves to position it against Harry’s skin.

He feels the needle press into him and lets his head fall back.

“This’ll be quick, five minutes easy.”

“Are you okay?” Louis whispers into Harry’s ear. He hears Zayn laugh from a far-off place.

“Mmhmm,” Harry breathes, not wanting to shift his head and jostle the movements of the gun. He’s also trying to zone out of where he is and who’s beside him as quickly as possible, because even though he joked about being turned on by the process last week, it’s becoming a dangerous reality with Louis breathing and touching tightly right next to him.

Carl is true to his word, and the letter is done before Harry can even fully settle into the dull pain. He tapes a small bandage over it and pulls Harry’s jumper back up for him.

“Good to go. Just treat it like you did the last.”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry says, getting out of the chair.

Carl turns to Louis. “Just give me a few minutes to get everything cleaned and set up for you, if you’re still on?”

Louis blinks and shakes himself into consciousness. “Yeah, ‘m good, take your time.”

“You can take the seat if you want.”

Louis and Harry switch, and he leans into Harry, tracing his hand along the outside of the bandage. “So. That was cool,” he whispers.

Zayn laughs again.

“Fuck off, Malik,” Louis calls out again, still focused on Harry.

Harry shrugs. “It’s nice.”

They sit in silence, smiling and having their own sort of wordless conversation for a few minutes, until Carl clears his throat, looking at them with soft eyes, and Louis whips around. He digs in his pocket for his phone and passes it over to him, the picture of the stickman pulled up. “This is what I want. On my forearm.” He gestures to the area, widening his fingers to give an idea of the scale.

“Can do.” He gets Louis’ arm ready and turns to his gun, and Harry’s impressed with how Louis is handling it so far. He only flinches when the gun turns on, and his left hand wanders over to find Harry’s. Harry hears a noise beside him, and looks up to find Zayn looming over them.

“Louis Tomlinson is getting inked,” he says quietly. “I’m not missing this for anything.”

Louis lifts his head and growls at him while Harry laughs and squeezes.

He relaxes once the gun starts to move, thankfully, although he still has a death grip on Harry. He starts breathing a little harder, too, but the arm that’s being worked on is lax in Carl’s hand.

“Almost done,” Carl mutters, pausing to reposition the gun and give Louis an encouraging smile.

“You okay?” Harry whispers, nose brushing against Louis’ hair. “You can squeeze tighter.”

Louis gives his head a small shake and shoots him those irresistible fond eyes. “’M good now. Thanks.”

*

Despite Louis’ insistence earlier, all is _not_ well when the three of them come up to the arena. The teams are scattered throughout the pitch and they are very obviously stalling, waiting on Louis. The referee does not look pleased.

There isn’t much of a crowd, only a handful of people from Manchester College, and a few students from the university scattered here and there throughout the bleachers. Zayn and Harry move to take a seat in the third row while Louis ducks into the locker rooms.

David catches their eye from the pitch and walks over to the railing with purpose to call out to them. “Is he still sick? Where is he?”

“Changing,” Zayn yells back.

“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” David mutters as he turns back and flashes his hand to the referee to indicate five minutes.

Harry and Zayn exchange glances.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Zayn says after a second.

“What is?”

“That you have to deal with that,” he clarifies, shooting a small gesture to David’s back.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

Louis comes jogging onto the pitch, decked out in his kit, cleats, and everything. He hurries to centerfield, meeting the referee and captain of the opposing team.

David runs up to him, though, pulling him aside to question him before they start. Harry can’t make out what they’re saying but what he does register is that David is gesturing to Louis’ bandaged arm with obvious anger and Louis is arguing back with just as much force.

“I told him he couldn’t play with it,” Zayn hums darkly. “He wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s Louis,” Harry points out. “Of course he wouldn’t.”

“Touché.”

The two move off of the pitch and David gestures for one of the players on the bench to step in for Louis. Louis grows louder, now, and with their proximity Harry and Zayn can pick up on the argument.

“It’s my arm, it’s fucking frigid out, I’m not going to get hurt,” Louis near yells.

“I don’t know enough about tattoos to make that judgment, Louis, and I’m the one who’s responsible for those calls here. That’s only half the issue here, too, and you know it.”

The game starts with the blow of a whistle and Louis makes to dart onto the pitch before David grabs his un-inked arm and pulls him back to the sidelines forcefully.

“This is exactly your problem. You’re behaving like an entitled brat, putting your vanity and desires before the team, not to mention all the lying. You’re benched for the day.”

“It’s more than that.” Louis jerks out of his coach’s grasp and takes a step back. “And it’s a fucking scrimmage, it doesn’t matter.”

David looks like his top is about to blow. Harry and Zayn lean further in to hear more.

He looks up, notices that half of the eyes in the arena are on the two of them, and points Louis in the direction of the locker rooms. “Of course it matters, and you should be ashamed to say otherwise. I am not having this conversation here.”

Harry gulps and his eyes follow the pair as they both storm into the building. He turns back to Zayn only to find him banging his head into his hands.

“That was dumb of him,” Harry admits. “Of Louis.”

Zayn sighs heavily. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty. But yes, it was. And I think that he knew that.”

“What’s up with him, then?” But Harry already knows the answer.

“He’s struggling. Thinking about the future.”

“Does he talk to you about this stuff?” Harry’s brow creases in worry. Louis has been so happy lately, minus the bearding situations, and of course Harry starts to think that this apparently sudden shift in his behavior is somewhat his fault.

“Only when he comes back drunk, and even then, it’s nothing worth writing home about.” He claps a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not in your control, Harry, he just needs to make some decisions for himself. Unless he comes to you about it, put it out of your mind, okay?”

“Okay.” Harry turns up to look at the game, and the college has already scored its first goal. Shit.

A few minutes later, Louis and David reemerge and the coach heads straight to the sidelines while Louis mopes for a couple of seconds before sitting on the bench, head in hands. After David catches up on the on-pitch action, he moves over to Louis and whispers something in his ear. Louis starts up, looking like he’s ready to get at it all over again, before he caves and takes his phone out.

“This isn’t good,” Zayn muses.

“What isn’t?” Harry can’t help but feel a little anxious about this bond that Zayn has to Louis’ behavior. He seems to know what’s going on before Louis does.

“Not gonna jinx it.”

“You scare me sometimes.”

Zayn laughs. “Just keep your eyes on the entrance.”

Two more goals are scored – one by the university and the other by the college – and the game is passing in silence before Zayn jerks a little and curses under his breath. Harry nudges him as if to ask what’s happening.

“Entrance, I said,” Zayn says.

Harry turns to look where Zayn is and sees Eleanor, of all people walking onto the pitch and crossing along the sidelines. She greets David with a warm hug and steps over to Louis, sitting on the bench beside him and giving him a peck on the cheek.

“What the ever loving fuck,” Harry breathes out. “Is this – is she being used to punish him?”

“I’d wager you hit it on the nose, mate. Also, I called it. We should start placing bets on what weird arse thing is going to happen next.”

Harry punches him in the arm.

“Sorry, not funny.”

Harry continues to stare at the “lovebirds” watching the game from the pitch. Louis shifts, looking uncomfortable, but slings an arm around her shoulders soon enough and she falls in easily. She pulls at his now-tattooed arm curiously and he lifts the gauze up carefully for a second before sealing it back up. She laughs when she sees it and gives him a kiss square on the mouth. It lasts longer than it has to.

“I don’t understand,” Harry murmurs, not meaning to say it aloud.

“You and me both.”

The scrimmage ends, time passing quickly but not quickly enough, with the university winning, although only by one goal. The few people that are in the arena start to clear out. Zayn and Harry start down the stairs only to be held up by a group of girls chatting near the front. They’re about to push by, but Harry hears a mention of Louis’ name and holds Zayn back. The girls are probably freshers, maybe even younger and coming from the college, and are talking a mile a minute.

“Why didn’t he play?”

“Didn’t you see, he had a tattoo?”

“Footie players with tattoos are the best.”

“Then that girl came, I think they’re a couple.”

“He showed it to her, she looked really happy.”

“Oh my god, what if it was a tattoo for her? He got inked for her! That’s so sweet. I want to die.”

Yeah, so does Harry. He grabs Zayn and jerks them around the corner, pressing up against the wall.

Zayn doesn’t look too amused, either. “Drinking the Kool-Aid,” he spits.

“What the hell was that, even?” He digs his heels into the cold ground as the girls pass by them, still talking and laughing.

“Like you said earlier. I don’t understand. He’s just...he’s not even – not even anything big. Not famous. Just a uni footie player.”

Harry sighs. “I think maybe they’re just projecting. They see this cute relationship and idealize it.” His phone vibrates.

_Louis the Tommo_

_can u come back?_

Harry looks back up at Zayn. “He wants to see me.”

Zayn nods and gives Harry a quick hug. “Give him my condolences. See you later.”

“Thanks for coming with us today,” he calls after Zayn as he leaves the arena.

“Of course.” He turns around, still walking. “It’s Louis.”

Harry reenters the pitch and sees that it’s emptied out, although there weren’t many people in it to begin with. Louis is kicking a football around again, reminiscent of a few weeks ago, although he’s changed into joggers and a t-shirt now.

“Aren’t you cold?” Harry shouts out to him, wrapping his own jacket tighter around his body.

Louis shrugs, taking another shot and hitting it right in the center of the goal. “Don’t give much of a fuck.”

Harry drops down to the bench Louis was on with Eleanor earlier. “Want to talk about what happened? Or just, you know, tell me what the fuck it was that went down.”

Louis turns to the pile of footballs on the field that he evidently spilled out and toys with one for a bit before giving it a kick. This one sails high above the goal. “He said I couldn’t play with the tattoo.”

Harry stands back up and lifts his leg over the railing, clambering onto the green of the pitch and by Louis. “Looked like a lot more than that. Was she supposed to come today?”

Louis looks up at him with a face that is so drained that he’s quick to backtrack. “I don’t mean that I’m mad that she came.” He moves in closer and reaches out so that he’s rubbing Louis’ shoulder. “But, really, what happened? Are you okay? Also, you’re cold, do you want my coat?”

“’M fine.” Louis nudges Harry’s hand off and toes with another ball. “She came as a punishment, Harry. Okay, not in so many words, but he told me that since I was sitting out, no thanks to my own actions, a ‘prime opportunity for a couple’s outing had presented itself.’”

Right. With the implication that if Louis hadn’t ditched practice and gotten a tattoo, Eleanor wouldn’t have been called.

Louis wraps his arms around himself and Harry hands him the jacket despite his earlier rejection. Louis takes it and puts it on. He sighs, buttoning the coat up. “He went off on me in the locker rooms. Said that I’m not thinking about me, my future, or the team. And I mean…maybe I deserve it. I don’t know. I guess that it was wrong of me to skip practice and the game for something that wasn’t essential.”

Harry nods, not wanting to agree either way.

“Since I’m captain and all. Only because of that.” He gives another ball a kick and misses four or five meters to the left.

“Yeah.” Harry stands there, ignoring the wind whipping around his jumper.

“You can take a ball, you know. Kick some. It helps get the frustration out.”

Harry nods wordlessly and starts rolling one around under his foot. He waits for Louis to speak again.

“But then he started yelling at me more about my career. And that if I’m being stupid about stuff that I think ‘doesn’t matter’ then I’m going to start being stupid about stuff that does matter. And it made me think.” Kick.

Harry takes a shot and kicks like Louis showed him a few weeks ago. It sails into the goal easily.

“That was good.” Louis offers him a blank but loving smile. “It made me think,” he repeats. “Maybe I should…you know, just fuck football and go into teaching right off the bat.”

“Louis.” Harry decides to finally offer some input. “Is that what you really want?”

He shrugs and takes another ball, kicking it up with various body parts. “It’d be easier.”

“Easy isn’t always what’s important. You know that.”

Louis sighs and passes the ball to Harry. “Throw it over here. I want to head it in.”

Harry does so and Louis makes another goal. Both watch the ball soar in and then Louis turns to Harry again. “How long is this going to go on, though? Years? Forever?”

Harry blinks at him. “I don’t know…? I mean, I guess – I guess we could talk about that…”

“No.” Louis shakes his head. “I don’t mean us, although we can talk about that another time if you want to. I mean for me. Am I just going to shove myself further into the closet forever? And ask you, or whoever I’m with, to stay in there with me?” He gives the last ball an aggressive kick and misses. He sits down on the cold pitch and drops his head between his knees.

Harry follows. “I don’t know that, either. I don’t know if anyone does.” He scoots closer to Louis and wraps an arm around him. “I do know that forever is an awfully big word to use, though.”

Louis heaves. “He told me that it looks like I’m trying to sabotage myself here.”

Harry presses his mouth to Louis’ ear in a kiss. “Are you?”

“Maybe…maybe unconsciously. I’m just trying to _balance_ everything, and it’s hard, I can’t seem to get it right.”

“Then you’re not trying to sabotage yourself.”

Louis presses his head into Harry’s chest. “Then I wish he would stop acting like I am.”

Minutes pass. Harry’s stomach grumbles and he realizes that they hadn’t eaten today. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Louis laughs. “It’s okay. We’ll get food in a minute, yeah? Takeaway or summat.”

“Mmhmm.”

Time passes again. Louis’ breathing steadies, and he settles further into Harry’s lap. Harry looks down at him, and he looks as calm as his breath indicates, although his eyes still look anxious. He yanks Harry’s head down to level with his by his curls and leans into his ear. “I can’t not be a footballer,” he whispers. “For my family.”

Harry nods against his mouth and rubs his back. “That’s important. But, you know, I think you should look at it like you have to do it for you, too.”

“What do you mean?” Louis pulls back to look him in the eye.

Harry curls his mouth into a smile. “Look at you,” he urges. “You’re a natural with the ball. And I don’t just mean on the pitch. I think that it’s good for you.”

Louis still looks confused.

“When you get frustrated,” Harry continues, holding Louis’ face in his hands. “You go right to a ball. Right to the pitch. It makes you think clearer, I can tell. And you have such a family within your team. They’re really good blokes, Lou, it’s obvious that you all love each other, and I know that you’ll be going your own ways come summer and that you’ll be getting a new team, but I’m certain that you can find a new connection with that one. That’s important, that kind of family. And you care about it, that release, so much, that you pass it on to others. It sounds silly, I know, but that’s a gift. When you rope me onto the pitch with you it feels like you’re bringing me into your world, and that makes me feel special.”

Harry stops, still holding onto Louis, and they maintain eye contact for a few moments before Louis starts to blush fiercely and pulls away gently. “You’re on a whole new level of charming,” he mutters, standing up. He holds out a hand and Harry takes it, getting to his feet. Louis keeps ahold of his hand lightly and then adds, “I don’t – I’m still thinking, I guess. Trying to make sense of everything. But thank you. That was…nice to hear.”

Harry leans in for a kiss and Louis takes it, curling his hands around his sides. “Also,” Harry breathes into his ear, “You give really good head on the pitch, and that’s important, too.”

An endearing snort escapes Louis and he swats at him playfully. “Come on, you. Let’s get these balls cleaned up and go order a pizza.” He runs to the goal, where most of the footballs have accumulated.

“Yeah, _get these balls cleaned up_ ,” Harry jokes with a smirk.

For that one, a football hits him squarely in the chest.

*

Harry is in that damned campus coffee shop with Taylor – Thursday, at four in the afternoon, just as it was in the beginning – when…shit starts to go down. They aren’t even having a big conversation or anything – they just grab a drink after lecture and head outside because the weather is nice (overcast, but it isn’t storming or anything) and they had been cooped up in class and the library all day.

“Did you want to go inside?” she asks as they round up on the first years’ dormitory.

Harry pauses abruptly, his coffee – because, yes, he was in the mood for a milky drink today – sloshing a bit inside of the cup. He had sworn to himself that he was under no circumstances getting himself and Taylor in a situation where she might try to come onto him, and he isn’t about to break that now. They had kissed a few times, but they were chaste, closed-mouth, and mostly drunken. Nothing worse than Louis was doing with Eleanor.

So he nudges his head toward that pathway not far from the dorms and a bit near the football arena, where Louis had taken him once to talk, and says, “Let’s walk.”

She steps down from the building’s stairs and joins him happily. “So you’re going to London this weekend?”

“Mmhmm.” He nudges the scarf around his jaw down so that he can take a sip of his mocha. “Five of us, Liam asked. For X Factor, y’know, moral support and all.”

She smiles. “Have fun. You don’t have to have too much, though,” she finishes with a wink.

Harry takes his next sip a little too fast and burns his tongue. “Um, nope, we’ll see.”

They’re coming up to the turn off by the arena and she slips an arm around him, continuing to talk about something that was discussed in class today and that he can’t really focus on. His attention automatically snaps to Louis, in a pair of joggers and a light jumper – really, he needs to start carrying his winter coat on him full-time, he’ll get sick and won’t be able to play – carrying his kit bag and heading toward them.

Louis stops when he sees them and waves. Taylor returns it and Harry tries to find a way to wiggle out of her embrace. He spots a bin to his right and darts over to it, tossing his coffee out although it isn’t even half empty.

Louis looks between them as he gets closer and raises an eyebrow. “What’re you two _lovebirds_ doing?” He says it as a joke, Harry can tell. He thinks that he’s being sarcastic and witty. But Harry’s stomach lurches and he just wants to run away and hide under his bed and make Liam barricade the door until whatever storm that’s about to hit blows over.

Why did he think that he could get away with this?

Why did he _want_ to get away with this?

But the world keeps moving around him.

Taylor giggles and gives Harry a squeeze. “Walking. Oh, we were talking about Harry’s trip this weekend, too, are you going?”

Louis jerks his head in an uncomfortable nod, the wit slowly draining from his face. “Yeah. I am.”

“Keep an eye on him, will you?”

Harry just stands there, letting his eyes fall to the brown, frosty ground slowly.

“I intend on it.” Louis’ voice is short and snappy now. “Harry.”

He looks up at the sound of his name.

“What is this?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno what you mean. Coffee. Walking.”

“Coffee that you threw away,” Taylor points out. “Didn’t like it? You can have a sip of mine if you’re still cold.”

Harry nudges the cup away with the back of his hand, avoiding eye contact with the both of them. He’s probably going to throw up the third of the cup that he drank along with whatever’s left of his lunch.

“You don’t have to do this,” Louis spits. His body language is still conveying something of a friendly stance – because really, all that Harry’s looking at right now are his arms on down – but his tone is a bit concerning.

“Pardon?” Taylor asks, stepping in closer to Harry.

“This is a dead path; literally no one but us is around.”

“Right. Okay?”

Harry stays out of the conversation.

“So…Look, I appreciate this, what you’re doing, I do. And I don’t know what kind of exact boundaries the two of you have drawn up, because that’s between you, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t continue to play the charade around me.”

Taylor pauses for a moment before turning to Harry and tapping him on the shoulder to try and grab his attention. “What in the world, Harry? _Charade_ , do you know what he’s on about?”

Harry looks up, meeting her eyes, and tries to mouth something, some sort of answer, but just shrugs wordlessly and looks to Louis

“Are you fucking kidding me, Harry Styles?” Louis spits, tensing up and directing every bit of venom toward Harry that he’s seen from him yet. “Don’t fucking tell me.”

“I really have no clue either, Louis,” Taylor says, stepping to the side and throwing out her own drink before returning with her arms crossed tightly.

“Obviously we’re both confused. Harry, tell us.”

He brings his hands up to his face and rubs them, trying to knock some of the cold out and maybe a few linguistic skills in. “’M sorry,” he mutters, unsure of whom he’s directing it to.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Taylor spits. “But I take it that this is why you didn’t want to commit?”

“Commit?” Louis squeaks. “He’s fucking committed to me, didn’t he tell you – he told me he told you – he told everyone he told you –”

“I don’t get it.”

“’M sorry,” Harry repeats, looking up at them again. Both look near tears.

“I don’t get it,” Taylor repeats.

Harry takes a deep breath and toys with his scarf, steeling himself to look Taylor in the eye. “Well…I’m gay. And – and I’m with Louis, I’ve been with him for a while, and I had meant to tell you, actually, I was going to ask you, because I needed a favor and you were the perfect person, friend, to ask, but then you automatically thought I was asking you out, so I couldn’t –”

“Oh, cut me a fucking break,” Louis spits.

Harry lurches a little, not used to being addressed like that by him.

Taylor looks lost.

“Of course you fucking could. How do you do it? You say, ‘Oh, no, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. You see, I have a boyfriend, but our relationship can’t be public, so I’m asking you for a favor, from one friend to another.’ That’s what you fucking say, Styles, when you ‘accidentally’ ask the person you want to beard for you out on an actual date.”

“Didn’t wanna hurt you,” Harry says, turning to Taylor again and still reeling from Louis’ words. “Didn’t wanna make it awkward.”

She laughs in his face, her red lips opening into a crooked “O.” “And how’d that work out for you, huh?”

“I can’t believe you,” Louis says. “I don’t know, I’m looking at it in hindsight now, but I’m so sorry, Taylor. You don’t deserve this shit and I’m sorry for my part in it.”

She steps away from Harry and nods tersely, trying covertly to wipe a tear away with her mitten-clad hand. “Yeah, well, that’s appreciated, but whatever. I’ll let you work whatever the hell this is out now. Harry, I hope you get your shit together soon. Not for your sake, because I don’t give a damn about you. But you have some good fucking people in your life, and they don’t deserve to be thrown into this mess.” She turns on her heels and walks back the way they had come, shoving her hands into her pockets as she moves.

Harry thinks that if he could maybe wind his scarf up a little he could burrow into it like a turtle in his shell and not come out. Ever. Mostly because he doesn’t want Louis to see him like this, to see him at all for the next century.

Harry had been with a girl, actually been with her, once. He was fourteen and hadn’t really considered the possibility that he didn’t like girls yet. She was a good friend, and had flirted with him from time to time, and one of his best mates pointed out that he should ask her to the cinema sometime. So he had, and for a few months they’d had a good time together. He and Diana were just your average teenage couple, going on group dates and a few singles, getting drunk at a friend’s house when their parents weren’t home, and fooling around a bit. It was when things started going further that Harry hadn’t liked it. Or rather, couldn’t like it, because he thought that he wanted to of course. She was such a sweet girl, though, and one of his best friends, and he felt as though he didn’t have a legitimate excuse to break it off. He couldn’t up and say “I really like you, but the spark feels off. Where do we go from here?” So he’d stayed in the relationship, past the end of the school year, and through summer. But that was when he’d started to realize that it wasn’t his fault, or Diana’s, that he didn’t click with her like he wanted to. She just wasn’t his type, and he started noticing blokes a lot more.

He dragged the relationship through the beginning of the next year, though, because he thought that she was such a nice girl, and that coming out would add on so many headaches to his life that he wasn’t ready for, that maybe he could make it work, that he could swing it. And he wasn’t ready to come out, not then.

Eventually, he was ready. So he had steeled himself, talked to her, and it was both better and worse than he’d expected at the same time. She understood his reasoning, she was supportive, and she told him that she understood where fourteen-year-old him had been coming from. What she couldn’t forgive was how long he had dragged the relationship out knowing that it wasn’t going anywhere. She had pleaded with him, questioning why he hadn’t told her from the start, and that she would have been happy to stick around with him for a bit longer until he was ready to come out to everyone.

They were friendly, but not really friends, for the rest of Harry’s time in Holmes Chapel.

Maybe he projected Diana’s willingness to, in hindsight, have bearded for him a bit to the assumption that Taylor wouldn’t have minded either.

Maybe he thought that it was “noble” because he was doing this for Louis, and not for himself, this time.

Either way, it’s shockingly obvious to Harry now that history has gone and repeated itself.

Minutes pass and he peers up from underneath his scarf to find that Louis isn’t in front of him anymore. He turns around, panicking that he’s up and left him without any comment, to see him sitting on the bench by the bin.

Louis looks up and sees Harry, then pats the spot next to him. “Can you sit?”

Harry does.

Louis angles his chin on his hands to look over at Harry. “I want to yell. I want to yell about how you just horrendously used a person who, for all intents and purposes, is a good person who doesn’t deserve the crap she just got thrown into. Because I’ve been used, and it’s the worst fucking feeling in the world, do you know that, Harry?”

“I don’t – I don’t _know_ that, but yeah. I – Louis –”

He cuts him off with a hand to the knee. “I’m not going to yell, though, because yelling doesn’t work and that would probably make things worse than they are. So I’m just going to ask you, why? What in the fucking world possessed you to try and pull this off?”

“I just wanted to help you.”

Louis still looks confused but he doesn’t pull away from Harry. “Why didn’t you correct her?”

“Because I was embarrassed, that I didn’t do it right in the very beginning, and I was worried that she might get mad and try and get back at me somehow, and that’s a really fucking awful excuse, but I kept justifying it as things moved on. Then I was able to tell her that we weren’t exclusive or anything – that I wasn’t looking for that, so I felt that was a little better, because –”

“That wasn’t better.” His voice is calmer now, and it seems to have fallen into a terse resignation. He isn’t spitting the words, his voice isn’t teetering on shouting, and he honestly just looks utterly upset.

Harry traces over Louis’ fingers with his own and the older boy flinches underneath him. “I know that now.”

Louis stands up and paces around the area surrounding the bench. “I don’t know how to react to this, Harry. Who knew the whole story? Who didn’t? Was it just me and her that you lied to?”

Harry cranes his head back to look at Louis, who’s currently pressed up against the back of the bench. “I mean…Niall, Liam, Zayn, they knew as much as you. I guess – I don’t know, it was a fucking mess.” He gulps. “Lies, lies all around, I guess.”

Louis drops his head against the backrest. He mumbles something that Harry doesn’t quite get.

“Pardon?”

“I said,” he repeats, somewhat loudly, “that I don’t _want_ to break up with you.”

Harry’s heart jumps out of his chest – he hadn’t really even considered that, and now he thinks that the possibility of vomiting is quite realistic. “Oh,” he whispers quietly, facing front again. Seconds pass but it feels much longer. “Are you going to?” His voice is still soft.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “But I’m hurt, you know, even though that wasn’t your intention. I know that you were trying to help, but let me be blunt, you did it in a shitty way, Harry. You lied to pretty much everyone. That takes…it takes some time to gain that kind of trust back, you know? And if I’m not feeling great about this, I don’t want to know where Taylor stands.”  

Harry slips his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t have gloves on, and it’s getting colder out. He thumbs over his phone. “I’ll…apologize again. I’ll text her, or something, so she doesn’t have to talk or respond if she doesn’t want to. I should probably tell her what I just told you. That everyone was duped.”

Louis gives him a gentle poke in the shoulder where the A tattoo is, nearly healed. “That would be good, I think. I’m mad, you know, and hurt, but I can’t completely vilify you right now. Because I’ve been doing some dumb things, some shit things too, and we’re a hot mess, still trying to figure it all out. But your intentions…weren’t as bad as they originally let on, and – and you’re Harry. You’re Harry, and you look sad, so you’re probably beating yourself up, too.”

Harry blinks straight ahead. “I am.”

After another minute or so of silence Louis slips back into the seat by Harry and he can feel his arms brush up against him. The poor lad is freezing. Harry slips out of his coat and once again passes it to Louis. He hesitates for a moment, then takes it. He slips the phone out of the pocket and slides it over to Harry. He grabs it and opens up his messages.

_Taylor Mayhew_

_I’m sorry for everything. You should know that it was a web of lies for everyone involved, and that my friends didn’t know more than Louis did and your friends didn’t know more than you did. You’re a good person and I did a shit thing and I don’t expect a response but I wanted you to know that you were definitely not the only one in the dark. xx Harry_

He presses send, turns his phone off, and shoves it into his pocket. They sit like that for a bit longer, watching the sun slowly creep across the sky. It gets a little windier, and clouds creep up among the trees. Harry is cold and he can’t imagine that Louis is very comfortable either. He stands up with a little shrug and offers his hand to Louis.

Again, he hesitates, but he takes it and squeezes. They walk a few feet as they are and drop hands.

“I’ll give you your coat when we come up on your building, then I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

And he does, and just before they’re about to part ways for the night Harry asks him, “Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you still coming to London this weekend? I didn’t know if…”

“Yeah, of course.” He rubs his arms through the jumper, probably starting to freeze again, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to the stickman skateboarder tattoo. “Going for Liam, aren’t we?”

Harry nods, folding the coat over his own arm. “Yeah, right, see you then. Saturday morning.”

Louis leaves in earnest and as he goes he throws Harry their thumbs-up signal behind his back. He knows that Louis can’t see it, but he returns the gesture.


	14. Maybe If We Think and Hope and Wish and Pray it Might Come True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry for the wait again! The chapter didn't give me difficulty at all, it was a blast to write and I think it's the longest yet. Just, you know, real life. And my laptop is being a butt so I'm uploading this from the house desktop and feel nasty lol. Anyway! Hope you enjoy. And much love to Harry and Louis as they are now, god knows they need it.

Harry doesn’t expect things to be perfectly normal when they set out for London on Saturday morning, and they aren’t. After Louis had left him on Thursday Harry had found Liam and Niall in his room and he ripped the bandage off quickly. Mostly, he wanted to get it out in the open before Chelsea blew up Niall’s phone with gossip. In short, Niall was angry and Liam was concerned. Louis was “busy” with football and coursework and there was radio silence from Zayn’s end.

He’s really only seen Liam since Thursday evening.

So when they pack their duffels and haul out to the train station at half past seven in the pouring rain, he’s a bit on edge. They meet up with Niall at the front of the building and take the bus to the train station where they’ll be meeting the other two lads. It’s early, and they’re all rather exhausted – Harry and Liam had had a night in with a six-pack and Niall had gone out with Chelsea. The ride to the station is long, dreary and quiet, all of which is echoed in Liam’s demeanor. He’s jittery and nervous, looking like he’s about to blow a top. Harry and Niall share worried looks and try to engage him in some sort of conversation, but he brushes them off to look out of the window.

They get off at the train station and Harry makes a beeline for Starbucks, getting in the back of a rather lengthy queue. They still have a good forty-five minutes until their departure time, though, and they purchased their tickets online. He already has Liam’s and Niall’s orders, so he takes out his phone to shoot Louis a quick text. _In line at Starbucks…Are you here yet? Did you and Zayn want a drink?_

They may have only sent short, practical texts to the other since…Thursday afternoon, but Harry is determined to try and smooth things over. Louis made the decision to stay, after all, and Harry is going to make it worth his while.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Just getting off the bus. Yorkshire for me, Zayn wants a bloody Frappuccino. Thanks xx_

Kisses are always good. Harry responds, _It’s damp and raining out and he wants a cold drink?_

_Louis the Tommo_

_Well I just asked him that and he threatened to throw my bag over the platform. So I recommend you get it and discuss the logistics with him after he has at least some caffeine in his system._

Harry laughs out loud at that last text and moves up the line. He orders within the next few minutes and gets the drinks stacked in carriers, making his way out of the café and toward the platform, looking for his friends. Zayn nearly bowls him over when he comes upon them, snatching the drink, giving him a pat on the shoulder after he takes a sip, and moving back to his spot on the bench.

“How much, Harry?” Liam asks as he takes his tea.

Harry shrugs, leaning against the standup sign by Zayn’s bench to take a drink of his own tea. “Consider this the first round of the weekend.”

Louis shoots his hand up, objecting. “That is categorically unfair, as one generally calls the round before the drinks are purchased, thus allowing the drinkers time to accept or decline. I reject your claim out of hand.”

Harry shrugs again and pushes his curls out of his eyes. “Well, yours was on me anyway.”

Louis can’t help but flip him a small smile at that. Niall, on the other hand, sticks his foot in his mouth and spurts, “Is that ‘cause you cheated on him?”

The four go silent, Zayn still sipping his icy coffee. He sucks loudly.

Louis finally turns to Niall, softly starting, “He didn’t –”   

“Well this weekend is completely on me anyway, I won’t even be paying for most of the events, so everything is a moot point and you just dropped twenty on drinks for all of us for nothing, Harry, thank you very much for breakfast,” Liam blurts out while he sidles over to Niall and steps on his toe.

Louis retreats and disappears under his tea.

Harry appreciates Liam but at the same time he knows that that comment was for the good of the group and no actual defense toward him.

They finish their drinks in silence, and the monitor indicates that their train should be arriving any minute. Harry drops his cup into the bin next to him and mumbles, “I would’ve bought it because he’s my boyfriend.”

He didn’t think anyone picked up on that but he swears that he hears Zayn whisper “I know,” under his breath.

The train rolls in, and everyone gathers their bags and lines up against a door, waiting for it to open. Louis slips his hand into Harry’s pocket quickly and gives it a squeeze before they file in. They look for an empty booth in the open-seating section and Niall claims one on the left, throwing his bag down on top of it while the others load their duffels above. Louis gives Harry a forceful but incredibly welcome shove into the window and follows, sitting closely beside him. Niall joins Louis, and Liam and Zayn take the opposite bench.

Zayn slumps his head to the table the moment his arse touches the bench.

“Rough night?” Niall asks.

Zayn just grunts.

“I don’t know what he was on, but he came back at half three and passed out in the living room,” Louis announces cheerfully.

Harry turns away from the window, concerned. “You don’t know what you took? Are you okay, mate?”

Zayn flips the table off and grunts again. “I know what I fucking took, Tommo, it was weed. Just…bad weed.”

“Or laced,” Liam offers, trying to seem helpful. “They have some really unthinkable shit out in the clubs in London, I don’t know what it’s mixed with –”

Harry feels Louis deliver a swift kick into Liam’s shin. He winces and leans back.

Zayn points at Louis accusingly, still not lifting his head. “Fuck off, don’t hurt him.”

“Appreciate it,” Liam grumbles, rubbing his shin.

“Anyway,” Louis says icily, “This is just another indicator that you need to find a steady, reliable, and safe dealer.”

“I had one,” Zayn points out. “He got arrested.”

“Right. Steady, reliable, and safe.”

At that moment, a steward comes along to collect their tickets. The train starts with a lurch and they pull out, starting to leave Manchester behind. They lull into silence, and although it’s comfortable, Harry can still feel an underlying tension in both the group dynamic as a whole and in Louis beside him. He doesn’t like it.

He lets his hand drift to Louis’ knee and gives it a squeeze. They make eye contact, and Louis gives him yet another small smile – nothing more, nothing less.

“I don’t like this,” Zayn spits all of a sudden.

“You and me both,” Niall adds, leaning forward into the table and looking pointedly at Harry.

Zayn gives Niall a look. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t like this, this atmosphere, it’s awkward. This weekend is supposed to be fun. So here’s this – all of you, talk your shit out now, before we get off this train, and I want to leave behind whatever the hell is happening here when we get off in London.”

Liam claps him on the shoulder. “Good idea, mate.”

“Thank you.”

Harry sits up a little straighter, jostling his hand off of Louis in the process. He feels three sets of eyes pressing into him and one other, Louis’, drifting around the rest of the table.

“What?” Harry asks. “Why are you looking at me? Are the three of you fucking holding this over me?” he hisses, not wanting to draw the attention of the other passengers. Their car isn’t too occupied, though, with only two other booths filled. “This doesn’t have to do with you, so kindly shove off.”

The atmosphere grows tenser. Louis hesitates, but swings an arm over Harry’s shoulders. “ _Do me a favor_. Anyone who has a problem with anything can speak the fuck up and be shut down right now, because he’s right, it’s his and my business.”

“Not what I meant, Louis, and you know that,” Zayn says. “I don’t give a shit how you worked it out, but everything is weird now, so someone must have something to say. Say it.”

Louis is about to open his mouth again but Liam cuts in. “I’m with Zayn. I don’t care. You’re my roommate, Harry, and I love you, man.”

And, this is nice. Liam hadn’t been as hostile as Niall, or as cool as Zayn, but this was his first comment indicating that they could maybe move on now. “Thanks, Liam. Love you too.”

Louis pouts into Harry’s shoulder playfully.

“Stop it,” Niall mutters.

“Pardon?” Louis whips around to face him.

“Stop fucking brushing it off and making a joke of everything,” Niall continues. “Look, Harry, you’re my best mate, but you did a fucking shit thing. She’s really ripped up about it, did you know that? No, you didn’t. So yeah, it’s awkward right now. Forgive me if I won’t excuse this just because it’s Harry and go on pretending nothing happened.”

“Niall,” Liam hisses under his breath.

“No, let me talk,” Harry insists. He gestures for Louis to lean back so he can look Niall in the eye. “Of course I know that, Niall, but –”

“No, no _buts_. You were a selfish prick and you’re continuing to be a selfish prick, and everyone else here is endorsing it and I’m not going to. I’m holding you to something higher than that. I told you in the beginning, don’t mess up my own damn relationship. You went and did just that, and you’re affecting everyone else too. Do you know what a fucking mess Friday was for me? Chelsea calling, Chelsea crying, Chelsea relaying Taylor’s messages, Taylor crying, me trying to figure out how the hell to respond, what the hell to do, me being told to walk from you or to walk from her. So ‘know’ _that_.”

“Okay,” Harry responds, filling in the empty silence that settled the moment that Niall closed his mouth. Zayn and Liam are sharing a glance, and Louis is looking beyond Harry’s face to the houses passing by them out of the window. His jaw is set tightly. “Okay, Niall, no buts. I don’t know what you’re asking of me but I’m not going to go and contact her again. I did once, to say that she wasn’t the only one duped, that was all.”

“I think that was the proper way of handling it,” Louis adds, still gazing out of the window.

“The proper way of handling it was not getting himself into such a fucking mess in the first place,” Niall spits.

Louis turns back to him again. “I think you should be grateful that you aren’t the one making the decisions we have to.”

Niall shuts up.

  
“Look, Niall, I don’t want to fight with you. I’m sorry that you and Chelsea got roped into this. It’s not your problem. But what do you want me to do now?” Harry nudges Louis back again.

Niall sighs and leans against the headrest. “Dunno. Just needed to get that off of my chest.”

Harry stretches his hand across the table. “Truce?”

He blinks, considering, then takes it and shakes. “Yes, Styles, you shit, I’m not going to be able to hate you when we have a weekend in London.”

“Right, London,” Zayn jumps in. “Sometimes I forget that you two lived here for a while.” He gestures to Niall and Liam. “So we have till like seven tonight, right? What are we doing?”

The three start babbling about pubs and parks and stores and who knows what else. Harry pulls his attention away from them when Louis places his hand back on his knee and presses his mouth to his ear.

Harry lets himself fall into the affection, closing his eyes and humming softly. He feels Louis knead his lips against his earlobe, then down his neck, his hand squeezing and rubbing his leg.

He’s brought back to reality when the train hits a particularly rough bump and hears that the table has gone silent. And then he gets a swift kick in the knee from Zayn.

“Fuck,” he says as Louis’ squeezes again on instinct and his own hand goes to the sore spot.

“Shit, sorry Harry, that was meant for Louis, the train jolted me.”

Louis flips him off.

“But save it for the hotel, yeah?”

Louis huffs, shifting in his seat, as Harry’s eyes trail down his body he notices a distinctive tent in his jeans.

“Yeah, okay,” Harry mumbles, sneaking a press of the fingertips to the top of Louis’ thigh. The older boy squeaks, barely audibly.

“Since you weren’t listening,” Liam starts, “We were thinking of checking in at the hotel and going for lunch or something? Then we could head down to Piccadilly just to walk around before I have to get ready for the show, it’s in that area.” He’s pretending to be pissed about the PDA, Harry can tell, but he’s hiding a smile – almost as if he were happy to see that the two lads are still very much into each other.

Truth be told, Harry was happy to have Louis initiate the contact, too. They haven’t done anything, even kissed, since Wednesday, and despite Louis’ protectiveness he was worried that they were still in a fragile place. Things aren’t the same, but at least it doesn’t seem that they’re anywhere near the verge of a split.

“Let’s go to a park,” Louis suggests, crossing his legs when, next to him, Niall’s eyes turn over. “Like, find a Tesco’s or summat, put together a proper picnic, and buy a football.”

“We’re in London and you want to play football? Really, Louis?” Zayn asks with a hint of amusement.

“Yeah. In a park. Harry likes playing football with me, right Harry? So with five we could figure a way to have a proper scrimmage.”

“I vote football,” Harry pipes up. He thinks of what he had told Louis a week ago and smiles.

Niall stares Louis down as if he were about to go off on them again, but he blurts out, “I’m sorry, that really fucking sounded like you propositioning all five of us.”

Louis bangs his head against the table repeatedly until Zayn leans across to grab it in both hands. “So is that a go then? I was teasing, that sounds fine. Hyde Park, since I’ve never been to London before, and we have to find at least some touristy thing to do.”

All of them agree to the idea.

“And then the show,” Liam confirms. “We only have to be there around seven-thirty, but we’ll have to get ready and stuff. And after that, the party. There’ll be a bunch of people there, and you’ll all, like, probably be excited to meet them, and you can, but I also hate a lot of them so if I start dragging you away it means I’m asking for your protection.” This time, he says it as a joke but Harry can tell that he’s genuinely asking for something.

“Got your back, mate,” he says.

“Who’s gonna be there? Any names yet?” Zayn asks with a wink.

Liam laughs genuinely. “Yes, she’ll be there, if that’s what you’re asking. I can introduce you.”

Zayn opens his mouth in surprise, looking taken aback. “I wasn’t serious – you don’t actually have to – Oh fuck it, Liam Payne, you are a saint.” He flings his arms dramatically around Liam in a display of affection that Harry has never seen coming from him before. Liam looks completely comfortable as well, and Harry is surprised and glad to see it.

All five of them break into a chorus of laughter and the mood, Harry thinks, is officially lightened.

They make conversation as the ride passes, Niall getting up to purchase a handful of snacks and drop them on the table because none of them had had a proper breakfast. After another half hour, Louis starts whining and kicks his feet up between Zayn and Liam.

“’M tired.”

“Sleep on me,” Harry offers, eyes closed and leaning back against his seat.

Louis pats him gently and leans against his side.

Liam coughs a bit before saying, “So is this what it’s going to be like? This weekend?”

“Gonna have to be more specific,” Harry mutters.

“You two. Being like this, acting like a couple,” he whispers.

Both Harry and Louis open their eyes, the spell broken. To be honest, Harry isn’t one hundred percent certain how Louis wanted the weekend to play out. He was planning on asking him before they left, but then the drama happened and they hadn’t exactly been talking much. He wasn’t about to bring up another touchy aspect of their relationship until things had been worked out. For now, he’s just following Louis’ lead.

“Well, we’re not about to come out,” Louis snaps, tensing under Harry’s arm.

“Sorry,” Liam starts. “I was just asking. So, you know, we know how to act.”

Louis sighs and scoots up straighter, out of the very comfortable position he and Harry were just in. “No, I shouldn’t have snapped. But, you know, I’m no celebrity? No one knows who I am outside of Manchester, really, unless they’re an active uni football fan. So, no, I think that Harold and I will be saving the blatant displays of affection for the hotel, but a little cuddling never hurt anybody.”

Harry nods in assent, happy that at least some restrictions appear to be lifted. “London’s quite big,” he adds.

Louis snorts. “‘London’s quite big,’” he teases. “You do talk some shit, don’t you?”

Harry sticks his tongue out in an act of defiance. “You love it.”

*

Stepping out of the train, Harry feels as if a load of weight is lifted off of his shoulders. He loves London, and it really is because of the size. You could get lost in this city and end up in any kind of atmosphere, surrounded by any sort of people you want. It’s its own biosphere. Harry thinks that he wants to live here someday.

They get down to the tube station and find the hotel easily and – wow, it isn’t the sort of place that Harry was expecting. He hadn’t thought about it, he supposes, because he was expecting something that was a cross between a hostel and where he’d stayed with his family on holiday as a child. It’s the Novotel, though, and stunning. There are glass panels, glass doors, glass decorations everywhere so that the entire building and lobby has a crystalline effect. It’s milling with people – posh, important-looking, and attractive people – and he grabs on to Louis’ hand quickly so as not to get lost.

“Liam!” Zayn shouts over the din. “How the fuck did you swing this?”

Liam shrugs as they move their way to the check-in desk. “I do have a record, you know, a bit of a name out here.”

“I mean for us, mate, we didn’t mean to drain your pocketbook…”

Liam waves him off. “The show gave us a good deal, really, it isn’t as expensive as it looks right now.”

The four hang back while Liam checks them in, their eyes scouring the lobby. The chandeliers are countless, there are refreshments like fruit water and tea scattered everywhere, and the furniture is so plush that Harry’s afraid to even touch it, it looks so easily sullied.

“Earth to Harry,” Louis hisses in his ear.

Harry breaks out of his awestruck reverie. “Yeah?”

“Look! Around, like at the _people_.” He subtly gestures to Matt Cardle, the winner of Liam’s year, some member of Little Mix, although not the one that Zayn fancies, and other celebrities. He almost feels out of place, here, surrounded by these people he’s followed on television for the past few years. Then again, he doesn’t. He’s not sure how to put it into words.

Liam comes back soon enough and waves five key cards in front of them. “Okay, we have three rooms.”

Louis snatches two with the same number on them in a flash and passes one to Harry. “We claim one.”

Harry grabs the card gladly and presses closer to Louis. All of a sudden the thought of an entire _fancy_ hotel room to themselves sounds really awfully nice.

“You take the other room, Liam,” Zayn suggests. “It’s your weekend.”

“Yeah, but…” he leans in closer to Zayn and Niall. “This sounds weird, but I’ve spent a lot of nights alone in a room, being my own act, and it gets old, I’d rather not –”

Niall shoots his hand up in a blast. “I volunteer! Takin’ one for the team, I don’t mind loneliness in a place like this.”

“Okay, settled then,” Harry mumbles, hoisting his bag back up on his shoulder and heading toward the lift, Louis’ hand still firmly in his grasp.

“We’re getting lunch!” Niall yells as the three trail them. “Food, soon! Don’t start anything.”

Harry slinks his arms around Louis’ waist as the five of them pile into the lift and Liam hits the button for the seventh floor.

“We’re not going to just start anything, don’t worry Niall,” Louis assures him. He lets a few seconds of silence and relieved sighs pass until he adds, “We’re gonna finish it too.”

Niall whines like a wounded puppy and stomps his feet.

“Okay, I _don’t_ need to know this,” Zayn mutters.

Harry blushes, remembering the last time that Zayn got a load of details on their sex life.

Liam checks his watch. “It’s eleven fifteen now. I mean, I’m up for a rest, too. We have the whole hotel to explore and shit, we won’t have too much of a chance tonight or tomorrow. Say we meet up right here at noon?” They step off the lift and into a hallway that is equally as glamorous as the lobby.

“Liam Payne, I appreciate you,” Louis quips. “Now let’s find the rooms please.”

Harry’s eyes fall down Louis’ body as they start down the hallway, and he notices a bulge in his trousers. He gulps. Well, he _had_ pressed himself against Louis in a not-so-subtle way on the ride up.

“You’re seven eighteen!” Liam calls as they round a corner.

Louis starts fumbling for the key in his coat pocket somewhere and Harry pushes ahead, card still in hand. They stumble into the room, dropping their bags by the door. Harry doesn’t even take two seconds to take the room in before he’s locking the door and pressing Louis up against the wall, kissing him frantically.

Not a minute in, Louis starts to whimper. “Need you,” he breathes as Harry lets his lips and tongue roam to his jawline. “Been too long.”

“Mmm.” Harry hums against Louis’ neck and feels his pulse speed up. Louis’ hands ruck up his shirt, scratching gently down his abs. Harry hums again before pulling away quickly. Louis makes a whining noise until Harry drops to his knees and scoots closer again.

Louis flips his head back, sounding a thump against the wall.

Before doing anything else, Harry grabs Louis’ right arm and presses his mouth right to the stickman. He kisses and sucks at it, keeping eye contact with Louis through hooded eyes the entire time.

“Christ,” Louis breathes. “If I knew – fuck, if I knew how that would feel I’d have gotten inked the day I met you.”

Harry smiles against his arm and pulls away, bringing his hands up to work at Louis’ jeans. They come down easily and his pants quickly follow. Louis bucks lightly into Harry’s hands and he laughs. “’M coming, Lou, patience.”

It’s been far too long, Harry thinks, since he’s given Louis a proper blowjob, though, and despite his teasing, he isn’t about to wait any longer. He grips a hand around the base of Louis’ already hard dick and strokes upward, making a point to lick his lips in a way that he hopes is as obscene and seductive as possible.

Louis answers by thrusting into Harry’s fist and letting a moan escape his mouth.

Harry thumbs over the head of Louis’ cock, rubbing against the slit and feeling it grow wetter and wetter as Louis’ hips continue to hitch.

It’s all Harry can do to not palm himself roughly into his own jeans.

Instead, he presses his lips to the tip of Louis’ dick and kisses softly, flicking his tongue across it until he starts to push in and suck. Louis hands immediately go to his hair and thread through the curls before pulling, _hard_. Harry jolts at the sharp sting and kneels straighter, taking more of Louis in and moaning around his dick. Louis alternates actions, first pulling, then massaging his scalp with his fingertips, then pulling some more, and the sensation goes directly to Harry’s ever-growing hard-on.

“Harry,” Louis whines after a bit of Harry continuing to bob and suck, and he knows what he’s asking for. Harry pulls off with a pop to rest his jaw for a moment, Louis’ fingers still threaded through his head. He feels so flushed, his lips and chin are covered in drool and precome. He gives Louis’ cock a few quick pumps, still wet from his spit. He drops his hands, rubbing them on his jeans while he repositions himself directly in front of Louis and looks up, expectantly.

“Shit,” Louis says, bringing a hand down to rub around Harry’s mouth. He traces over his lips and they’re already sensitive, a bit sore to the touch. Harry opens to nip at his fingertips and, to his surprise, Louis pushes them in further.

“Unh,” Harry lets out as two of Louis’ fingers enter his mouth, pressing down against his tongue. He closes his lips again to suck, but Louis just pulls them in and out with a bit of force. Harry groans louder than before.

“Like this, love?” Louis asks, tracing his lips with his thumb. “You’re so flushed, your lips are as red as a cherry.”

Harry messily nods his head, mouth still occupied. This might be one of the least sexual sex-things he’s done with Louis so far, but he finds his hand creeping to the crotch of his jeans regardless. Louis is fucking his mouth with his fingers, and he’s utterly eating up the feeling of being under him, below him, in his control.

“No,” Louis hisses all of a sudden, nudging at Harry’s knee with his foot. “Don’t touch yourself yet.”

Harry whines and sucks tighter against Louis’ fingers, bringing his teeth down just the slightest bit, but he withdraws his hand anyway.

“Better.” Louis tilts his chin up and his fingers dive further into his mouth. “Want you to be all ready when I get down there.”

Harry closes his eyes and squeezes them together, moaning even louder.

Louis pulls his hand back and wipes it down Harry’s shirt. His eyes are still closed, but he feels Louis’ wet fingers sliding down him, the dampness passing through his jumper and stroking his skin, and he vaguely thinks that he should maybe be blushing or embarrassed, even a little, but the itch in his pants only grows stronger.

Louis brings his hand back up and taps Harry’s face slightly, only to bring his focus back to him. “Hazza,” he drawls.

Harry blinks open and finds Louis looking down at him expectantly but completely blown-out. He looks wrecked, even though he’s the one who’s been doing the wrecking, and Harry can’t help but smirk. “Wanna fuck my mouth?” he asks, bringing his mouth to Louis’ cock and just barely pressing his lips to the tip.

“Jesus, I thought you’d never ask,” Louis breathes, letting his hands find their way back into Harry’s hair. He pushes Harry forward, and he takes his cock in bit by bit until he feels it brush the back of his throat. Harry can’t help but let a little gagging noise escape, but he keeps his mouth closed around the base and vibrates around it. Louis moans and yanks at his hair.

Harry can feel his eyes water, his throat burn, but he also thinks that it might one of the best feelings in the world. He can barely make a noise, he’s so full of Louis, he can barely breathe, he’s so full of Louis, and really, he thinks that it’s all he’s ever wanted in the world.

Soon he really does need to breathe, though, and he pulls off harshly, gasping. He groans, voice raspy, and wipes at his mouth before aligning his head again. “C’mon, fuck me for real now,” he mumbles as Louis looks down at him as if he were the light of the world. Harry looks right back up and hopes that he’s returning the favor.

Louis nods, though, and as Harry opens his mouth and starts taking his cock back in he starts to thrust slowly, popping in and out of his lips. Harry opens wider and groans, sucking and licking sloppily as Louis’ pace grows quicker. He brings his hands up to straddle the wall, framing Louis’ hips and bracing himself. Louis thrusts, and pulls, and yanks, and he moans, oh, he moans “Harry,” and “Hazza,” and “Love,” and once he even calls him a slag, and Harry closes his eyes tightly and moans around Louis’ dick. The next thing he knows, Louis is tapping at Harry’s face quickly, warning him, but he just closes tighter and pushes his cock further down again as he comes into his throat.

Harry helps Louis ride it out, staying in place and swallowing him down while Louis moans and kneads at his scalp frantically. He finally pulls away with a final pop and leans back on his heels to catch his breath and wipe a trace of spit and come away from his lips. He pants, sweaty and still aching for an orgasm for himself, running a hand through his incredibly messy hair. Louis sinks down across from him, breathing just as heavily.

“Fucking shit, Harry.”

“Mmm,” Harry replies, pressing down on his groin just a bit to take the edge off of his desire to be touched.

Louis stays quiet for a few more moments before piping up quickly. “No, _shit_ – what I said – I should’ve asked you before, I don’t know, it just slipped out, I’m sorry…”

“Huh?” Harry stops what he’s doing and looks across at Louis who has a worried expression on his face.

Louis blinks and shakes his head as if he were ashamed. “When I called you a slag, with my dick halfway down your throat, that really wasn’t cool –”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts, crawling over to him and pressing his sore mouth to his lips. “That was perfectly okay. I think it probably brought my cock to new heights.” He kisses him more, holding his shoulders, before whispering again. “Think I said this once. ‘M a slag for you. Slut, whore, whatever you want to say.” He bites down on Louis’ jaw. “I _like_ it, Lou.”

Louis whimpers again and drops his hand to Harry’s jeans, starting to fumble with the button before Harry scoots back a little.

“Could we go to the bed? My knees, they’re sore and all…”

Louis stands up abruptly, yanking his own pants and jeans up as he stumbles across the room, and when Harry goes to join him he finally gets a good view. The room is quite spacious, with two decently-sized beds and what looks like the softest, whitest comforters ever. Louis crashes on the bed closest to them, spreading out on his side and patting the other for Harry to lie with him. “Too bad we’re gonna mess it up,” he comments, echoing Harry’s own thoughts. Harry falls back on the bed and Louis clambers over to him immediately, working at his jeans like wildfire. He gets them down just past his knees, pants and all.

Harry hisses as his dick is finally free of constraints and hits the relatively cool air. Louis licks a fat wet strip along his palm and brings it to his cock, pumping up and down slowly. “Gonna make you come hard, love,” he coos as if he were making small talk.

“Louuu,” Harry whines, thrusting up into his hand. He knows that he isn’t going to last long, that the excitement and pleasure he gained from blowing Louis brought him too close to the edge for much else. “Gonna be quick,” he mumbles, gripping at the comforter on either side of him tightly.

“Mmhmm, all quick and wet over my hand? You wanna mess me up like that, Harry? I can shove my fingers down your throat again, make you lick it all off like the slag you are, you’ll have both of our loads down your throat.”

Harry blanks out at the thought, at the fucking filth leaving Louis’ mouth right now.

Louis clears his throat and pumps harder, squeezing his hand in all the right places and nearly constantly thumbing over the slit as it leaks precome. “What do you think, Harry? Tell me, baby.”

And oh, at this new name Harry moans even louder, clenching the sheets so tightly underneath him that he knows that they’ve gone white. “Wanna,” Harry breathes. “Wanna come. On you. Eat it up.” He can’t even form comprehendible sentences at this point. He gasps again as Louis just tongues the tip of his dick, licking it softly, carefully, and pulling away with a kiss. He sheathes over him once again and that’s all it takes before Harry is spurting jets of white everywhere, hips bucking and he’s crying out wildly.

Louis pumps one, two more times before pulling his hand away and leaving Harry’s cock to soften against his thigh as he crawls up to his head. He dangles his dripping wet fingers over Harry’s face, drops splashing him in the face and he’s shocked at how hot he finds it. Louis drops his fingers slowly, pressing them into Harry’s mouth again, and he eats it up. He sucks, licks, and swallows around Louis greedily, taking his own come in as easily as he did Louis’.

He pulls out with a smirk. “You liked that,” he teases, grabbing a tissue by the nightstand and wiping at his fingers and then Harry’s face. He tosses the tissue aside and nuzzles into Harry’s neck. He bites at his neck playfully, in a loving rather than sexual sort of way. Louis drops a hand across Harry’s stomach as if to lay there and suddenly realizes how sticky he is.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, although he really isn’t.

Louis laughs and stands up, buttoning his jeans and smoothing his shirt out. “Be right back.”

Harry stretches out, closing his eyes and letting himself take in the softness of the bed. The room is so cool, the comforter so soft, and he hears Louis humming softly to himself in the bathroom as the sink runs. He kind of wants to stay like this forever. He juts his chin out and looks around, spotting the artwork dotting the walls and the giant mirror across from this and the other bed. Maybe they could make use of that tonight. There’s a large flat-screen telly in between the beds, and a window with a balcony at the other end of the room. It’s very nice and he should thank Liam again.

Louis comes back with a wet towel and crawls across the bed to wipe Harry down. The cloth is warm and it’s comforting, Louis taking care of him like this again. “Missed you,” Harry lets slip out without thinking. He bites his lip and pulls back a little, realizing that he probably just made a misstep.

Louis tosses the towel to the nightstand and drops down to give Harry a gentle kiss, their noses rubbing. “You too. Glad to be here.”

They curl up and cuddle until they have to meet the rest of the lads. At some point Harry grabs the remote and they flip through the hundreds of channels they have access to just for the hell of it, unable to settle on a drama or a reality piece and finally flicking it off and curling back into each other’s hair.

Harry thinks he might have drifted off at some point, and he knows that Louis does. He’s jolted to his senses with a loud bang at the door. “Food!” Niall yells from outside. “If you’re still fucking, I swear!”

Harry groans. He doesn’t ever want to leave this bed, this room, this position curled up around Louis.

“Coming!” he shouts anyway, gently rubbing Louis awake.

They scurry up, fixing their hair and clothes in the mirror before grabbing their phones and wallets and leaving the room.

Niall is outside, tapping his feet impatiently. He drops his face into his hands when he sees them and Harry can only imagine why. They walk back to the lifts, Niall behind them whispering, “Your hair. It’s sex hair. Those marks. They’re sex marks. And your mouth, Harry, you blew him, didn’t you?”

_Jesus Christ_. For a bloke who would barely look him in the eye a few hours ago, Niall is sure on a roll right now.

Louis flips him off and scrolls through his phone as the three round up on Liam and Zayn and…some other boy, maybe Louis’ age, or a little older, taking to the two of them animatedly. He’s cute, Harry thinks, pretty fit, too, although of course he pales in comparison to the boy beside him.

“It’s only eleven fifty, Niall, what the hell?” Louis complains.

“We were hungry,” is Niall’s only explanation.

“Oh, Harry, Louis, hi,” Liam greets. He gestures between them to the bloke he was talking to. “This is Aiden Grimshaw, we were in the X Factor house together. Aiden, my roommate Harry, and friend Louis.”

“I’m your friend, too, Liam,” Harry teases jokingly as he shakes Aiden’s hand.

Louis reaches across and does the same and Harry can’t help but notice and twitch at the squeeze and extra look that Aiden shoots him. “Nice to meet you, Louis,” he says with a laugh. “And Roommate Harry.”

Harry can’t help but covertly sneak a hand back and give Louis’ arse a squeeze. No one notices except Niall, who exclaims, “For fuck’s sake!” Everyone turns to him, eyebrows raised.

He blushes. “Lift,” he mutters. “Taking a while.”

Aiden shrugs. “A lot of people here, I reckon. They’re a bit busy.” He and Liam turn back to their conversation and Niall sidles over to Zayn whispering something in his ear. Harry can only imagine what it is, probably something about them, judging by the color that Zayn’s cheeks turn.

Louis turns up to look at him and gives a small smirk.

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

Louis beckons him to lean down and cups his hand around his ear. “You were jealous,” he whispers. “He was flirting with me.”

Harry pulls back and crosses his arms. “Was not,” he breathes. Well, of course he was. Despite all the shit they go through with the closeting and the bearding, they’ve never come across situations where actual jealousy and tension would come into play. By the smirk still plastered on Louis’ face, Harry thinks that he’s enjoying it.

The lift finally dings and the six of them step in. It’s even more crowded than before, and Aiden ends up pressed on the side of Louis opposite from Harry. He bends down and whispers something into Louis’ ear, making him laugh and Harry flare up again. Zayn notices this time and has to turn away, he starts to crack up so hard.

They exit the lift and part ways with Aiden as he turns to one of the hotel restaurants and they walk toward the door.

“See you tonight Liam, Louis, everyone,” he calls as he disappears.

Harry grumbles louder. “You don’t even know him, why did he single you out,” he mutters as they head toward the tube station.

Louis giggles. “That was the best. The absolute best. The look on your face, Hazza.”

Harry wraps his arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him closer as Niall starts rambling about what stop they have to get off at.

“We need a football too!” Louis takes care to point out.

“Yeah, there’s another shop next to it, right Liam?” Niall asks.

Liam answers but Harry doesn’t pay attention as Louis leans up on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “You’re not actually upset, are you? It was cute. Besides, if we get to know him any better I won’t be swinging his way anyway.”

And that sort of pisses Harry off more than anything else. It doesn’t bother him that other blokes are flirting with Louis; because of course other blokes are going to flirt with Louis. Really, who wouldn’t? But it does bother him that he’s unavailable to Aiden because he “doesn’t like blokes” and “has a girlfriend” and not because he’s with Harry.

“I didn’t even know he liked blokes,” Liam proclaims loudly and bringing Harry and Louis back to the present. “Aiden, that is.”

“Well, everyone likes Louis,” Harry says, pretending to be affronted, as they tap their Oyster cards through the kiosks.

“Sorry, mate,” Niall says. “Not me.”

Louis grasps at his chest and pretends to faint into Harry’s arms. “However will I recover from this shocking rejection?” he gasps.

Harry giggles and stumbles backward onto one of the platform’s benches. He presses his face into Louis’ hair, still smelling faintly of sweat and sex and cuddles, and breathes. “Stay with me, then,” he mumbles.

“Always.”

Zayn makes a gagging noise, leaning against the advertisement beside them. “Yeah, gonna have to pass along with Niall for this one,” he says lightly, scrolling through his phone. “You have, like, an aesthetic about you, and your energy, as fucking annoying as it is, is oddly captivating. But I know way too much about your actual sex life, and your faults and shit, to want to shag you. Ever.”

Louis huffs and crosses his legs, still on Harry’s lap. “That’s what best mates are for, I suppose.”

“Mmhmm.”

Their train arrives, and the ride is a bit of a pain in the arse, but Harry enjoys it. He and Louis are sat next to each other and Louis just flings his arm around his neck like it’s nothing big. And no, they aren’t snogging or groping each other or anything, but it’s better, so much better than things are in Manchester that Harry is as content as he can be. Maybe some people would interpret them as a couple, maybe just as really close mates, but no one here knows them and they can be a little freer.

Tesco’s is as chaotic as the tube was relaxing. Harry insists on grabbing a basket to drop their things into throughout the store and within five minutes his arms are aching. Niall runs around dropping the most inane things inside – “We don’t need a bottle of Nando’s sauce for a picnic in the park, mate, just grab some mustard” – and Liam loads him up with a six pack of beer, only adding to the weight. In the end, despite Louis’ and Niall’s protests, they end up with a few items to put together sandwiches with, two bags of crisps, and yes, Liam won out with the beer.

Louis ducks out quickly to the sporting goods shop next door and comes back with a grin and a football. They head on over to Hyde Park and Niall doesn’t waste a minute before digging into the paper bags and starting to fix the food.

“Wait, I can get it,” Harry insists with horror as Niall starts to just slap the condiments messily and everywhere. “Like, just pass me the plates and I’ll get a line going.”

Niall rolls his eyes but does what Harry says. Zayn just laughs, joining the assembly line and muttering, “Going to be a proper house husband someday, hmm?”

“No,” Harry blushes. Louis laughs and claps him on the back with a squeeze. “Alright, maybe,” he adds as an afterthought. “I like cooking, okay?”

“’M not _complaining_ , Harry,” Zayn says. “I greatly appreciate the addition you’ve given to my kitchen. God knows that I was the only one doing anything in it before you came along.”

And then Louis claps _him_ on the back, but with a bit of force. 

“We all have our different talents, Malik,” he says with an air of pretentiousness, standing up to kick the ball around his feet, knees, elbows and head.

Harry can’t help but be endeared. He throws a heel of bread at him and Louis grabs it, the football dropping to the ground smoothly, barely missing a beat.

“Speaking of that,” Liam starts. “How’s recruitment going? Do you have a lot of meetings or dinners or whatever? If you can tell us, of course.”

“Yep.” He drops next to Harry, plopping the football in his lap and leaning over to grab a beer and a handful of crisps. “It’s, um. Looking really good. I can’t give names out, but…yeah. Good.”

Harry grins and drops his head to Louis’ shoulder. They don’t talk about the recruitment process much, mostly because Louis argues that if he starts he won’t be able to stop and he’ll start telling Harry everything that he isn’t supposed to know. But he says enough so Harry knows that half of his dates with Eleanor are networking dinners and there are others that are Very Serious Business Meetings where he has to very grudgingly put a tie on and such.

Zayn starts grumbling as much, saying, “That’s all you can tell us, really? Need to know if I should start looking for a new flatmate just yet…”

Louis gulps his beer down quickly and Harry can’t help but be mesmerized by the way his cheeks hollow out as he sucks. He bets that’s what he looks like when he’s sucking him off.  He blinks, trying to clear his head, and grabs half of a sandwich from the pile he’s made.

“You have time yet, don’t you Zaynie?”

Harry is always amazed by how Louis and Zayn can go from pissed off and a last name basis in one moment to pet names and cooing in the next. It’s probably one of the most endearing things about their friendship.

“’M gonna claim one of these three, you know, if you don’t end up staying in town.”

“Yeah, you’d have to have takers first,” Louis drawls, picking a tomato off of his sandwich and accidentally flinging it at Niall’s face. “Sorry, pal.”

Liam shrugs. “I’d live with you.”

Zayn puffs up with pride and sticks his tongue out with Louis while reaching for his own drink. “See. That was so difficult, Tommo, how in the world will I live without you?” His voice drips with sarcasm.

Niall and Harry lean across the spread of food, high-fiving at the implication of their own living situation next year.

Louis pouts. “Alright, alright. All I can say is that hopefully you won’t be rid of me so easily. Have some faith, lads. I’m a smooth talker, I like to think, on and off of the field.”

Harry nearly ups and twirls around with excitement at Louis’ latest confession. He’d never gone so far as to imply that he might be signed by Manchester United next year, and the thought is thrilling. His boyfriend, possibly joining one of the most world-renowned football teams in the world. Oh, God, what if he made the national team eventually, and played for the World Cup or the Olympics? It’s a little hard for Harry to grasp, the reality hitting him so suddenly, and it seems that the rest of the group notices as Liam leans over and waves a hand in his face.

“Tired, much?”

“Nah,” Niall snorts. “Still fucked out.”

Harry expects Louis to throw something at the boy, maybe drop a swear his way, but he just sits and grins like a mad rooster. Louis and his pride, allowing Harry’s moral character to be degraded in a place of dignity. Or something like that.

He tries to defend himself, knowing that there’s no use denying, by throwing a crisp Niall’s way, hoping to nick him in the eye. He just catches it in his mouth instead and grins like a fool.

“Yep,” he says, crunching. “Fucked out as shit.”

Without thinking Harry leans and grabs Louis close, pressing his mouth to his neck and sucking a lovebite in as quickly as possible. Louis squawks, trying to get away and spilling the last few sips of his and Harry’s drinks in the process. Harry lets go when he figures that he’s done enough damage, and smirks as Louis rubs at his neck. He got him, all right.

“Okay, you’re both fucked out,” Niall amends. “Can we play football now?”

They nod, and everyone starts throwing their trash back into the grocery bags. As Harry helps Louis to his feet and smirks at the spot on his neck, he asks, “Why are they so obsessed with us?”

“Because,” Louis muses, zipping up his jacket in the cold December air. “We’re captivating. Flawless. The eighth wonder of the world, you and I. Okay, maybe not quite all that, but _they’re jealous little shits, they are._ ” He states the last part particularly loudly and earns a roll of the eyes from all three of their friends.

Harry buttons his own coat and checks the laces on his trainers. It’s cold, yes, but it’s a bit better than Manchester, to be honest, so he’s certainly not complaining. Louis pulls a beanie out of each pocket and hands Harry one. It’s his usual navy hat, and Harry can’t help but beam a little as he pulls it on.

They get into a rousing game of football – okay, it isn’t quite proper football, as there are five of them, but they shoot goals between trees and don’t really keep track and Harry and Louis quietly team up and start tripping the others to gain each other penalty shots. And even though he’s playing football in a park in London when he could have done that on the quad back at uni, Harry thinks that he’s happier than he’s ever been.

They don’t have to worry about their behavior being questioned by anyone they might know. They don’t have to worry about stumbling over Jeff or David or, God forbid, Taylor. They can just be five normal lads goofing off in a park on a Saturday afternoon.

Yes, Harry is happy.

*

The show is fantastic. Harry is blown away by the contestants and the musical performances of the night. His friends seem to be gunning for James Arthur, but Harry much prefers Jahméne Douglas’s voice and demeanor.

Mostly, though, he’s blown away by Louis. They’re all dressed up somewhat posh, given that a shot of them might be broadcast to the nation tonight and that they’ll be clubbing later, but Louis is something else, although that might be Harry’s tunnel-vision speaking. He’s wearing black skinnies whose tightness rivals Harry’s, a pair of nice white trainers – it appears that he does own other shoes, then, although Harry hasn’t seen them before – and a white t-shirt matched with a tight black blazer.

Stunning, really.

The rest of the boys are similarly-clad, and Harry is in a nearly identical outfit, save for a black button down in place of the t-shirt. It suits them quite well.

Liam’s seated ahead of them, with the rest of the runners-up from his year, and while he does look happy to be there and catching up with everyone…Harry gets it. He gets why Liam chose to go to uni, and why he’s hesitant, if a little excited, to start work on another record. It’s not that he’s out of place, but at the same time he doesn’t fit exactly right with the crowd. He talks and laughs and gossips and comments on the performances, but he seems a bit detached.

And they miss him here, up in Row M. Alright, they don’t miss him, because it’s only for the show, but they’re _off_ without him. Harry and Louis are talking and giggling and making their inside jokes while Zayn and Niall are left to their own devices. The two get along, but they’re used to being a trio within the five. It’s the dynamic, is all. All or nothing.

So when the show is over, Harry is more than excited to get to the club. He has _plans_ for the night, see. They are going to get as pissed as ever, he and Louis are going to grind up on each other all night, and then they are going to stumble into their hotel room and have really hot, full-on sex.

The ride there is full of tension. They’re crammed into the back of an Escalade, Harry nearly sitting on Louis’ lap, and every few seconds he makes a point to rut into him softly, just enough so that he and no one else will notice. He’s not even drunk yet, Jesus Christ, though, and Harry doesn’t know what’s gotten into him.

And Louis seems to have the same attitude, because he just grips Harry’s waist tighter, trying to hold him in place and prevent him from moving while he tries to have a very serious conversation with Liam over whether Simon Cowell is actually the arsehole that he seems he is.

“He’s a businessman. That’s literally it. He’s harsh, but he’s getting the job done, and he isn’t mean like he is on camera. It’s an act, I don’t know how often I mention this to you guys, believe so little of what you see.”

“Oh, I know _that_ , Liam, believe me.” Louis kicks at Harry’s heel with his toe as a warning shot as Harry grinds down another subtle time. “I just meant as personality. Is he totally unpleasant to be around?”

Liam shrugs. Harry whimpers softly. “Never really got to know him much. He came in for the cameras, that was that. He did give us advice, but it wasn’t one hundred percent genuine. The vocal coaches like Savan were much more helpful than any of the credited bigwigs.”

“Huh,” Louis muses, slackening his grip and letting Harry have his way for a moment. “Wouldn’t have guessed.”

“There’s a lot of crap.” Liam keeps going, and the other three are pulled into the conversation as well. “Just, all the lies. Secrets. No one’s life is simple here, and you’d be surprised, so surprised at how fast you have to learn that and get the hang of it to stay alive and afloat, even when we were still in the group house.”

“Like what?” Niall asks.

“Well, sex, for one. Everyone’s fucking everyone, and I guess that that’s expected, but it just gets made even messier when guys on guys and girls on girls are thrown in. Because then they don’t want the affair to get out and on top of that they have their sexuality to worry about. And then drugs, that’s self-explanatory. Lies too, a lot of people lied about their backstory to get on the show. Then sometimes it gets out and it’s messy. But yeah. A lot of shit.”

Zayn and Niall look surprised, but Louis is calm about the whole thing. “Yeah, knew that.”

“Oh, sorry mate,” Zayn says with playful sarcasm. “Forgot you’re part of the _Manchester elite_.”

Louis gives him a shove and Harry takes full advantage to fit himself fully over his lap. Louis grumbles as he sits back up straight but he grabs Harry’s hips again and cuddles him closer in a manner less sexually tense and more caring and sweet. He relaxes into the embrace.

They pull up to the club and pile out. Harry can’t help but notice that Louis’ sporting a bit of a hard-on. He gulps, not really sure how he’s going to make it through the night.

The second they enter the building, Zayn starts poking at Liam. “Where is she? Can I meet them? Please?”

Liam laughs. “I think they’re performing tomorrow, so they’re probably not here, along with the actual contestants. I’m sure we’ll see them tomorrow night.”

“Well, what about you?”

He shrugs. “I’m just planning on not getting too pissed. I wanted to go out with you guys, though.”

Niall slings his arm around Liam’s shoulder. “Go buy us drinks, then, good pal.”

Liam points down to the wristbands they were given by the bouncers. “Open bar, mate.”

And Niall looks at Liam as if he were the Lord Jesus himself. He gapes, then locates the bar and scurries off to it without another word. Louis drags Harry over as well, grabbing a shot for each.

“Can you make a margarita, too?” Harry calls after the bartender as they swing up on the stools.

Louis snorts and seems as if he’s about to make a witty comment when Aiden swivels in next to him.

“Louis, hi.” He nods toward Harry, apparently that being all the greeting he deserves.

The two boys take their shots and down them while Aiden places his glass on the bar to rest.

“Liked the show?”

Louis nods, letting the last few drops of liquor spill onto his tongue. It’s obscene. And only Harry should be finding it that.

“Real good. It was nice, seeing it in person after watching it for so long.”

“Yeah,” Harry pipes in as he takes his second drink and thanks the bartender. It’s cherry red, and he and Louis share a smirk, remembering the color of Harry’s lips after their earlier activities. “Excited for Liam tomorrow.”

They talk for a few minutes, and Harry finds that Aiden is actually quite funny and entertaining. The three of them get along well, and it’s quite friendly banter they have going, once Harry pushes himself into the conversation enough to get noticed by Aiden. He still can’t help but feel a few pangs of jealousy every now and then, though, by the way that Aiden laughs right in Louis’ face or taps him on the shoulder ever so lightly. Maybe it’s the alcohol.

“Fancy a dance?” he finally asks Louis, standing up and gesturing toward the floor.

Harry clenches his glass. He _knows_ that Louis is only playing along, probably getting Harry riled up on purpose, he _knows_ that Louis made it clear he was going to present straight to Aiden, but still. That jealousy thing, it’s going pretty strong right about now.

Louis hums, circling the rim of his glass with his index finger. “Uh, thanks mate, but I’m, uh…not really up for that, you know?”

Aiden just raises his eyebrows and laughs out loud. “Louis, you’re kidding me.”

Louis turns around in his chair and crosses his arms, a rather unpleasant look on his face. “No? Don’t swing your way, sorry.”

Aiden just shakes his head. “It’s not that I find it impossible, it’s just…” He gestures between Harry and Louis. “You two are a thing, right? That’s why I can’t believe. I mean, I knew I was pissing you off all night, Harry.”

Harry and Louis exchange glances and he can tell that Louis’ eyes are pleading for forgiveness. Louis hesitates, then says, “We just started off as really good friends.”

“Right, so fuck buddies.”

Louis shakes his head and Harry follows.

“So you’ve never kissed?”

Louis swings an arm nonchalantly around Harry’s shoulders. “No.”

“No,” Harry echoes, laughing inwardly at the absurdity of it all. He thought he’d be more upset when the inevitable denial finally happened, but it’s really just hilarious. Aiden is standing by the bar, sputtering with incredulity – he doesn’t even appear slighted, he’s just shocked at the words coming out of their mouths – and Harry and Louis are just sitting there, lazily physically affectionate and “denying” any questions that come their way.

Finally, Aiden side-eyes them harder than ever. “Good luck with that, then. Like, really. Hope you snag him soon, Harry, before you drive yourself mad.” He leaves them, off to another bar and another set of people.

The two left look at each other and crack up. “He thinks I’m smitten,” Harry laughs as they stand up and move to the dance floor themselves.

“Well, to be fair, you are,” Louis says with a smirk and pulls Harry in closer.

“Thought we were just friends.”

Louis shrugs. “I can grind with my best mate,” he whispers as he brushes his hips against Harry’s. “Not gonna go off and do it with other random blokes I only met today, but you know.” He leans further up to Harry’s ear and his lips brush it. Harry shivers. “You’re an exception.”

They dance and drink and dance and drink, and it doesn’t take long before they’re sweaty and drunker than ever. The music is blaring and the lights are colorful, flashing, and blinding. The crowd is packing in around them and Harry would, quite frankly, rather not know which celebrity he’s grinding arses with as he lets Louis into him.

“Hazzzz,” Louis whines, gripping his shoulders and pressing up on his toes. “Hazza, need you now.”

“Mmm.” He separates them, just to fuck with Louis a little, and makes silly, drunken hand gestures as if to pull him back in.

“Boyfriend!” Louis yells, and stumbles back into his arms.

Harry nips at his ear, laughing. “The fuck was that? Said we were just friends.”

Louis swats at his chest like a petulant child. “Fuck you, I’m drunk.”

Harry throws caution to the wind and kisses him, not quite on the mouth but close enough, with his arms wrapped around his torso.

“No, like I want to go now.”

“Why?”

“ _Because_ ,” Louis hisses. “Can’t really hide how hard my dick is anymore.”

_Oh_. Well that’s as good a reason as any, Harry supposes. He yanks Louis out of the mosh pit on the dance floor and they circle the area quickly, looking for their friends. Zayn and Liam are out of sight, and Niall is nowhere to be found after five incredibly long minutes of searching.

“Just call a cab,” Louis hisses, nearly pawing at Harry’s back pocket.

“Yeah, yeah.”

They leave the club and stumble onto the pavement to find Niall leaning against the building, on his phone.

“Don’t even tell me,” Louis breathes with shock. Harry almost doubles over laughing, despite the fact that there are many more pressing matters – quite literally – at hand right now other than the fact that Niall left an X Factor party to call his girlfriend at one in the morning.

“Leaving, Niall!” Harry calls. “Coming with us?”

He nods and hops into the cab that pulls up for them.

“Why’d you do that?” Louis mumbles as he crams in beside Harry.

“Well he didn’t seem like he wanted to be here anymore,” Harry responds.

“Yes, thank you, right here,” Niall says loudly. He’s very drunk as well, Harry thinks.

“So why aren’t you living it up in there?” Louis asks, taking Harry’s right hand and pressing it to his own crotch.

Harry’s eyes widen but he starts palming the area regardless, letting Louis writhe underneath him. He doesn’t think Niall is in the state of mind to notice anyway.

“Didn’t want to dance with another girl.” Niall shifts in his seat and Harry almost has a heart attack. It’s not like they’re whipping each other’s dicks out, but he would never let them live this down, to say the least. “Missed her. So I called.”

“Well isn’t she lucky,” Louis says dryly as he juts up into Harry’s palm a little more. “Don’t get me off,” he whispers just soft enough for Harry to hear.

“Yeah,” Niall mumbles, fiddling with his phone and probably texting her. “Maybe I’ll call her back and jerk off in the room when we get there.”

“Jesus Christ, Niall,” Harry squeaks, still not one to talk as his hand creeps under Louis’ shirt and up. He’ll never get tired of this boy’s abs.

“Oh please, you’re worse.” If only he knew.

They finally arrive at the hotel and hurry up as fast as humanly possible. There are people in the lobby, some drunk, others just lounging around, and a few random people not affiliated with the X Factor at all. Harry and Louis ignore all of them, pushing through to the lift, and as the doors close on them Harry is about to pin Louis in the corner when Niall halts them. “Oi! You can’t wait?”

Harry flips him off but just presses into Louis as innocently as possible anyway. They’re breathing into each other’s faces hotly and Harry wants nothing more than to press his mouth to Louis’. He can feel Niall’s eyes burning a hole in his back, though, so he holds out. When the lift doors open the Irishman bolts out, not even caring to shout out a goodnight behind him, and Harry just laughs at that as he drags Louis down the hallway to their own room.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s back, pressing his hands down his back pockets as Harry keys the door open. They stumble into the bedroom, shoes and blazers and belts flying off before Harry crawls across the bed in the dark to flip one of the small lamps on. It casts a honey, sun-like haze into the room, just light enough so that they can see each other.

Louis crawls in after him, straddling Harry immediately and starting to untuck his blouse and shove it up. Harry involuntarily bucks up, so relieved to finally have Louis all over and digging into him. Louis leans over him and breathes down as they were doing on the lift, but this time he finally kisses him on the lips.

And Harry thinks that that one kiss might be better than anything else they get up to tonight, because it’s what he’s been craving since they dashed out of this room earlier after getting each other off. He moans and arches his back into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and shoulders and pulling him closer. Louis licks along his bottom lip and Harry opens for him, turning the kiss into a slow and drawn-out makeout session. He sucks on Louis’ lip, drawing a moan out of his mouth and squeezes him tighter.

“Harry,” Louis pants into his mouth when they come up for air.

Harry just slides his hands down Louis’ body, coming to rest at his hips. He lets Louis start to kiss him all over his neck and laughs into the little tickles that his mouth makes on his skin. He thrusts up into Louis softly and gets an idea. “Want you to ride me,” he breathes out. “Like this. Tonight.”

And Jesus fucking Christ, Louis starts whimpering. He completely pulls his lips away from Harry’s skin and just rests his face into the crook of his neck, _whimpering_.

Harry’s trying to think straight, not lose his cool already, but having this god-like boy draped across his body, rutting into him and whining incomprehensible things about dick and ass and fucking and hard all while pressing intermittent kisses along the top part of his body, yeah, it’s difficult. He lets Louis unbutton his shirt and help him slip out of it. Then he starts pressing kisses to his chest, his tongue swirling over Harry’s nipples and, fuck, then his teeth are scraping against them and Harry’s getting louder. Louis stuffs his fingers in Harry’s mouth, reminiscent of earlier in the day, and he sucks on them while Louis continues to toy with his nipples. They’re tender now, and Harry can’t exactly see but he can imagine that they’re quite flushed and puffy. They _feel_ that way, at least, and the sensations flooding to his chest are incredible. Painful, but incredible.

Harry lets Louis have his way with him like that for a few minutes before growing restless. He doesn’t want him to stop, but he needs to get his own hands on him and everywhere as of yesterday. In a rush he grasps Louis by the shoulders and flips him around on his back so that he’s braced over Louis with his palms framing either side of his head.

Louis whines. “Why’d you move?”

“’Cause.” Harry presses his mouth to that spot between Louis’ collarbone and neck and sucks, leaving a mark opposite the one he did earlier at the park. He slips his shirt off and over his head, ignoring the petulant protests escaping the mouth of the boy beneath him.

“Thought you wanted –” Louis’ breath hitches as Harry rakes his abs softly with his fingernails and then starts to toy with the button of his jeans. “Wanted me to ride you.”

“I do,” Harry says, voice low and gravelly. “But I want to do something else first.”

“Don’t make me come.”

Harry pushes his skinnies down and suddenly gains a great amount of respect for Louis and how he handles Harry’s tight jeans on the regular. Louis’ are never this tight, never tight enough for his pants to follow without the extra effort they’re requiring now. He closes his eyes and thinks of Louis’ arse grinding in the club and shudders before moving on. “No promises.”

“ _Harry_.”

He smirks. “If you’re so insistent I can make you hold back.”

“Well I don’t want that either, smartarse,” he snaps.

And Harry is even more aroused as Louis’ sass arrives. All he responds with is, “We’ll see,” and a teasing hum.

Now Louis is stark-naked underneath him, and Harry lies back to just look. He thinks that he could probably look forever. He _knows_ that he could look forever. Louis is so tan, so muscular, and yet he’s still soft and curvy along his tummy and waist and arse and thighs. And he’s here, with Harry, not with Aiden or Eleanor or any of the other people that tried to snatch him away from Harry in the club.

Harry reaches a hand out to stroke over his body, purposefully avoiding his hard, glistening, and plenty-wet cock flush against his stomach.

Louis blushes. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring you,” Harry murmurs. He feels incredibly sober all of a sudden. He’s just bursting with this surge of affection for Louis, for the amazing, beautiful, smart, athletic, loving, sarcastic, and hilarious boy in front of him, and he wants to formulate it into words but just can’t yet. He settles for a quiet, “You’re beautiful.”

Louis blushes even redder, although that may be partially due to the way one of Harry’s hands inches dangerously close to his dick and the other slips between his arse and the bed to squeeze. “Stop,” he says. “Saying things like that.”

“No.” And Harry presses a kiss to his thigh, up and down and to the other, and to his hip, sucking at his v-cut for a moment before working down.

Louis’ breath picks up and Harry can feel his fists curl against the sheets. “Can’t last,” he breathes, “if you put your mouth on my dick.”

Harry laughs into Louis’ thigh, his lips just barely ghosting his cock. “Not where I was gonna go. If that’s okay.”

Louis swallows a squeak. “Oh my god.”

Harry smiles and nudges his thighs apart, watching his face for explicit permission. Louis spreads wide for him, throwing his head further back into the pillow. He drops his face down, spreading Louis’ cheeks apart as he does so and ghosting over his hole with a finger, just tickling it like so. He replaces it with his tongue quickly and licks a fat stripe from there to the edge of Louis’ balls quickly as he squirms underneath him, letting out a soft scream.

“Want me to keep going?” Harry knows the answer but absolutely wants to hear it.

“God, can you?”

“Mmm, gladly.” He presses his lips to the ring of muscle and swirls around with his tongue, getting him wetter. He peppers the area with kisses, playfully nipping at Louis’ bum cheeks with his teeth and leaving small but gentle marks in its place. He licks around again before popping his finger into his mouth to get it good and wet. Harry presses in slowly and shallowly, as he doesn’t have the lube with him, but his saliva works as well as anything for his purposes right now.

Above him, Louis is an absolute wreck. He’s thrashing in the sheets and moaning sporadic words and phrases like “Harry,” “Fuck, fuck,” “God your tongue, like that, keep doing it like that,” and endless others that serve only to propel Harry further. He’s dying for a bit of relief himself, rutting against the mattress and still in his jeans.

Harry dips his tongue in next to his finger and lick around circularly. His finger presses in and out before pulling away and then he’s moving his tongue, fucking Louis with his tongue, and he’s so close, he’s right there, inside of him with his mouth that he thinks he’s moaning louder than Louis is at this point. Louis grinds down against his face and Harry only nudges upward, lightly matching Louis’ pressure.

He continues like this for minutes, licking and fucking and sucking – oh, Christ, the sounds that it makes when Harry smacks and sucks his lips against Louis’ asshole, they both go instantly quiet just to hear and appreciate them – into Louis before his face grows flushed and warm beyond toleration and he lifts up, panting. Harry wipes his mouth obscenely, keeping eye contact with Louis all the while.

All Louis does is grab an extra pillow with both hands and bring it up to his face, screaming into it. Harry can’t focus on anything but his fingers, the way Louis’ fingers are such a tanned and small contrast against the white of the pillow and is aching for them to do something other than act as outlets for Louis’ frustration. He wants him to actually do something with them.

Harry laughs and stands up, stretching and dropping his jeans and pants. “You’re missing a show,” he calls out to Louis, who’s still buried in a pillow.

Louis mutters something unintelligible. Harry crosses to his duffel, now completely naked, and ruffles through it until he finds a condom and his travel-size bottle of lube. He tosses them to Louis and lies down, spread out as he was in the beginning.

Louis tosses the pillow aside soon enough to see what’s going on and raises an eyebrow when he sees Harry staying still. “What now?”

Harry shrugs. “Why would I know?”

Louis sits up and crosses his arms. He looks cute now, on top of beautiful, his little pout such an incredible contrast to his incredibly hard, amazing, and stunning cock that’s still as hard as ever. “Well, you seem to be calling the shots tonight.”

Harry leans back again and smiles though hooded lids. “No ‘m not. What do you want to do?”

Louis whines and gives him a somewhat rough slap across the stomach. Harry moans and bends upward and the shock and sting of it. “You know what you want me to do, I can tell, so get on with it already, arsehole.”

_Jesus_.

Harry caves. “Open yourself up for me.”

Louis’ eyes bug out and a “What?” escapes from his mouth, but all the same he’s moving to straddle Harry and lift up on his knees.

Harry just nods. “I wanna see your pretty little fingers open you up.”

Louis mutters a string of fairly incoherent words, something that’s probably along the lines of “Harrywhydoyousaythesethingsdoyouknowwhattheydotome.” Or something like that. Regardless, he snatches the lube up and spills some over his left hand.

Harry stays silent, watching Louis like a hawk. He slowly drags his hand down to his own cock, starting to pump it slowly, and he nearly cries at the relief. Louis looks like he’s about to swat it away but doesn’t, instead just turning his other hand around to open his cheeks up. Harry can’t see exactly what Louis is doing, but the moment that he’s inside himself, he knows, because he straightens up and moans, his mouth forming an obscene little expression of pleasure.

And then – _oh_ , he remembers the mirror across from them. Harry props himself up on his elbows and cranes his neck around Louis to stare into the mirror and sees the back of Louis straddling him, his arse round and plump and so perfect, his back broad and muscular. His fingers have disappeared within the crack of his arse and he can see the one, the one inside himself moving back and forth.

“Louis,” he breathes. He has to fall onto his back again, giving his cock a rest. He isn’t sure how long he’d be able to last otherwise.

“ _Harry_.”

“Uh huh,” Harry encourages him. “Work yourself like that, Lou, wanna see you spread all wide and ready for my cock.”

“Uhhh,” Louis whimpers as he pushes in further, starting to grind back onto his own hand some.

“Fuck yourself, can you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” And it seems like Louis slips a second finger in, by the way clenches harder and rides faster, thrusting his hips and whining like so. Harry starts to pump his own cock again, getting himself ready for Louis as well.

“’M ready,” Louis insists quickly. “Want you in me now.”

“You sure?” Harry asks as he reaches for the condom. “It’s been a while.”

“I want you.” Louis pulls his fingers out and wipes them off on the sheets. He straddles Harry a little flatter and snatches the condom, ripping it open in one go. Now he goes to swat Harry’s hand away from his dick, lifting and dropping it to the side as if it were a piece of rubbish, and rolls the condom over him smoothly. Harry has to restrain himself from thrusting up at the much-desired contact of Louis’ hands to his dick, even if it’s just for this. Louis goes on to slick him up with the lube and scoots forward, positioning his arse over him.

He teases, wiggling his eyebrows and bouncing a little, just barely grazing the tip of Harry’s cock.

Harry whines in protest, moving his hands up to Louis’ waist. “ _Go_ already.”

“Magic word?”

Fuck it. “ _Please_ ,” Harry begs. “Let me fuck you, now.”

“Since you asked nicely,” Louis muses. He grabs Harry’s cock with one hand and steadies himself with the other on Harry’s chest. He sinks down slowly, both of them letting moans of ecstasy escape as the tip of his dick breaches Louis’ arsehole, entering him bit by bit.

“So good,” Louis lets out, sinking down further. “Want you all up in me.”

Harry feels Louis envelop him, hot and tight and so, so pleasurable. He rubs Louis’ hips with his fingertips, trying to urge some relaxation into him. He goes all the way then, bracing himself against Harry’s shoulders as they meet, skin to skin. The two sit like that for a moment, relishing the feeling of being so close, so connected, so very nearly one.

Harry is the first to speak. He just – he can’t, can’t stay silent when everything coursing through his mind is nothing but _LouisLouisLouis_. So naturally, he moans out, “Louis.”

Louis’ breath hitches and he shifts a little, leaning down to thread his fingers through Harry’s hair. But Harry jerks at that, pulling back a little. “Can you – can you stay up like you are? Don’t lean forward. I want to watch you, want to see you bounce and take my cock like you are.”

Louis whines in protest. “But _tradition_. I always grab your hair when we’re fucking.”

Harry can’t help but laugh. “Try it like this just once? You can pull my hair all you want when we’re done.”

“Promise?” he asks, and he looks so sincere that Harry wants to cry. He feels the strangest things when he and Louis are inside of each other.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Just – stay up there.”

Louis does, and he starts to rock back and forth, up and down. He goes slowly at first but quickly picks up the pace, his hands still pressing into Harry’s chest. And God – it looks just as hot as Harry had hoped. Louis is almost literally bouncing on his dick, pressing up and down and up and down and making the most crude noises while doing so.

Harry can’t help but thrust to meet him a little, unable to lie still and take it. “Fuck,” he breathes, sweating already and rolling his hips in time with Louis’ arse.

“Fuck me,” Louis breathes, eyes half-closed and biting his own lip. “Fuck me so hard, Hazza, it’s so good baby, so good.”

Harry just moans, he moans louder than before and grips Louis’ hips tighter than ever. It’s his turn to leave bruises. “Lou,” he whines, knowing that his orgasm isn’t that far off. “Tell me how it feels.”

Louis digs in with his nails, scratching Harry’s chest. “Feels like you’re everywhere,” he breathes. “Right here, you’re so big, stretching me like this.” Harry lets a hand wander to grasp Louis’ cock and he starts to pump slowly. “Fuck, now – shit, my dick Haz.” He rides Harry faster, rolling and rocking and leaning a little forward for speed. “Gonna come soon.”

Harry groans. “Come, yeah, me too.” He doesn’t even know if that makes sense and he doesn’t care, because then Louis is coming across his chest quick and hard, his arsehole clenching around Harry and driving him over the edge, causing them to come nearly in unison.

They’re panting, sweatier than ever as they ride out their orgasms, Louis still thrusting and Harry still pumping.

“Haz, Hazza,” he whines, coming to a slow halt.

Harry just throws his head back, unable to think of anything but _Louis_ and the pleasure coursing through his veins and _Louis_. Louis climbs off of him slowly, falling into his side of the bed and tossing the condom aside. He curls up next to Harry, flinging a leg across him. “Sticky,” he says.

Harry grunts softly. “I’ll be back.” He gets up to head to the toilet, dizzy for a moment and having to grasp the nightstand to right himself, and Louis whines and sticks his hands out as he leaves. “Right back,” he repeats. Harry wets a towel with warm water and glances in the mirror – he’d never really seen himself right after sex before and, God, he’s absolutely wrecked. His hair is wild, even though Louis hadn’t touched it, his pupils are completely blown out, and he’s littered with little spots along his neck, not to mention the sheen of sweat glistening everywhere.

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever felt happier with his body and how he looks than he is in this moment.

He cleans himself up as he walks back and curls into Louis again, wiping him down just to cool him off. “You good?” he asks, dipping in to kiss him softly.

“Real good,” Louis replies, snaking his arms around Harry’s neck lazily. “You fucked me real good.”

Harry hums into another kiss. “’M glad, then.”

Louis, true to his word and Harry’s promise, withdraws his arms and slips them into his hair, giving a few soft tugs every couple of seconds. Harry moans each time, although his voice is nearly shot now, from the afternoon blowie to the show to the club to what they just did. But he loves it, Louis taking the reins like that and pulling like only he can.

And Harry is once again overwhelmed with feelings for this man, spooning into him and fucking yanking his hair, beautiful and naked and glistening with excitement.

And he knows something, in this moment. He realizes that he’s probably known it for a while –things just happened so _quickly_ between them – but right now is the first time that Harry thinks it, although he doesn’t dare utter it out loud. It’s too scary, too much of a risk, especially considering the hump that they just passed over this morning.

But yes, he thinks it. He’s probably going to write it in the smallest lettering in the most crammed page of his book tomorrow, where no one but he will know that it’s written. He wants it out there somewhere, shouted to even the smallest void.

Because Harry Styles is in love, he _loves_ Louis Tomlinson, and someone has to know.


	15. Baby Then There Wouldn't Be A Single Thing We Couldn't Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep, sorry for the wait! I had a oneshot idea that I had to get out, though, and now that's posted too, so this should resume a more normal posting schedule.
> 
> As a sort of disclaimer for the tattooing scene - there are several pictures where Harry's being inked in a less-than-ideal situation, and I'm pretty sure that Zayn's done him in a hotel room before, so I didn't think this was too much of a stretch. 
> 
> Also, a note I scribbled out while sleep-deprived last night: witty H + L is so much fun writing them as besties who love each other is so much fun this is my actual thought process while writing their drunken cab banter
> 
> One last thing: I'm depicting a lot more real-life people in this chapter than I've previously done, so just a disclaimer that this is a work of fiction and so are my characterizations.

Harry wakes up still entwined with Louis, leg over leg and arm through arm, and smiles down at him in the cool darkness of their bedroom. He dips his head down to smell his hair, dry, soft, and with a tinge of sweat and sex still left in it, and presses his lips to the boy’s temple. He remembers last night so vividly, his mouth in Louis, Louis rocking above him, and the feel of Louis’ sweat-sheened body all over. He is so incredibly content in this moment that he doesn’t want to move.

A few minutes later, though, his phone alarm starts to go off, and he whips over to hit snooze before it wakes Louis. It’s nine, and they had discussed yesterday that they were going to walk around Piccadilly and maybe check out a museum before Liam’s call time at five. Harry doesn’t have the heart to disrupt Louis, though, with the way he looks so innocent and at peace wrapped up in the comforter, his mouth barely open.

He lies still for a few minutes and feels himself drifting off. He figures that he should sort this off before he blinks and it’s noon. Harry rolls back over and lets his lips brush Louis’ ear oh so gently. “Lou,” he whispers. “Did you still want to go out today?”

Louis shifts, his breathing pattern breaking as he rolls flat onto his back and blinks at Harry a few times. “Out?” He rubs his eyes, still coming to consciousness. “With the lads?” Louis’ arm falls to the side, revealing his tattoo.

Harry nods. “We had said we were going shopping and sightseeing, remember? Time to wake up if you still want to do that.” He runs a hand over the skateboarder and presses his arm lightly. “We could stay in, though, if you wanted. Just hang around the hotel and sleep and swim, maybe find a place nearby to grab lunch.”

Louis nods quickly, a small grin creeping up his sleepy face. He slaps a hand slowly against Harry’s chest. “Let’s do that.”

“Okay. Just let me go knock on one of their doors, I dunno if they’re awake yet. Go back to sleep.”

Louis squeezes Harry’s wrist and closes his eyes again as Harry gets out of bed and crosses over to his duffel to slip on a pair of joggers. The blood is rushing to his head again now that he’s moving, but he isn’t nearly as hungover as the thought he would be. Maybe really amazing sex works as prevention. He grabs his key and opens and closes the door quietly, his footsteps padding softly down the hallway as he heads toward Zayn and Liam’s room. It’s quiet and feels like the break of dawn even though it isn’t that early in the morning, as evidenced by the bright sunlight shining in through the window at the end of the hall. Everyone on this floor was probably out last night, though, and if they have any bit of sanity within them they’re still asleep.

He knocks at the door and hears someone rustling around inside. Zayn opens, clad in a t-shirt and pants. Of course he’s the one awake.

“Hey,” Harry drawls, his voice still thick with sleep. “We’re gonna stay in today. Sorry to ditch you, and all that, but we’re still a bit tired. So we’ll see you around five, half five, okay?”

Zayn nods, stifling a yawn. Harry hears the whistle of a tea kettle on the mini stove that the rooms are equipped with off in the distance. “Have fun, be presentable this evening, all that good shit. Text us if you want to meet up later.”

“Thanks, Zayn.” Harry claps him on the shoulder before heading back to his own room, pummeling toward his door and only wanting to get back to bed. He’d feel bad about leaving them after having made plans if time alone like this wasn’t such a rarity, a treasure, between Harry and Louis. Just being able to walk around the hotel somewhat freely, swing their hands back and forth in an empty area maybe, go on a proper lunch date together, it all sounds so wonderful.

He slips in as quietly as he left, leaving his joggers on the floor as he crawls back under the comforter and into Louis.

“Mmm.” Louis breathes softly against his chest.  

“Hi, Lou,” Harry mumbles, his voice deep. “Sleep.”

He does, and so does Harry, and they’re stretching awake for good an hour later at ten. Harry’s on his back, limbs sprawled off of the bed and on the bed and over Louis, carding a hand through his own still very messy hair. “It is a beautiful day, the birds are singing, the sun is shining, and I have all of London at my fingertips with the most stunning boy by my side.”

Louis grunts, his face covered by Harry’s forearm. “Can’t hear birds, the shades are closed, and I’m a _man_ , Harold, a _man_.”

“Fair points.”

“But, you know, I could say the same to you. Except instead of stunning I think I might go with…jaw-dropping, cuddly, sexy, and curly. To spice it up a bit, and all.” Louis yanks Harry’s hand off of his head and replaces it with his own, toying with a few strands.

“Always have to go for the curls, huh?” Harry leans back into the touch anyway.

“Mmhmm, they’re my favorite thing about you, I think.” He presses his face into Harry’s chest, rolling onto him a little. “Or your smell.”

Harry giggles like a child. Really, it should embarrass him more that in nearly nineteen years of existence a boy’s – pardon, a _man’s_ – words and touch reduce him to this juvenile mess. But he loves it. “I like your laugh,” he says simply, the words rolling off of his tongue as Louis stays put on his body. “I like that face you make, with your eyebrows, that you use for literally every emotion in the world.

Louis tilts his head up to make eye contact and puts the exact expression that Harry’s referencing on.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, utterly enamored. “Like that.” He props himself up a little so he can lean down to kiss Louis, softly and sweetly.

After a moment Louis pulls away with a start, laughing. “We should’ve switched beds,” he explains. “It’s all sweaty and come-stained.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t mind your come.”

“Well I mind my come,” Louis snorts, crawling over Harry to get out of bed. “C’mon, let’s shower.”

And he doesn’t have to ask Harry twice. He jumps out of bed, following Louis’ perky arse to the toilet where he bends down to start the water. Harry looks in the mirror again, and instead of looking wrecked and blown-out and sex crazed like he did last night, he looks sated and well-rested and soft and content. He likes this version of himself, too.

“Harold!” Louis calls in a sing song voice from inside the shower stall.

Harry turns to him quickly, climbing in and crowding around Louis in the cramped space. “Nice room, tiny shower,” he whispers into Louis’ ear, because there really isn’t much place else to do so.

Louis giggles, looking brighter and peppier than ever. He reaches across Harry to grab a bar of soap and passes it to him. “Wash me up, pal.”

Harry scrunches his nose but takes the soap anyway, running it under the water and over Louis. “Pal? What happened to…babe, or love, or even a proper nickname?”

Louis pretends to look affronted, which is quite the hilarious sight to watch as water runs over his hair, plastering to his face, and Harry suds up his collarbones and chest. _God, those abs_. “I like pal. Pal is sarcastic, pal is secret, pal is an inside thing.”

Harry laughs and lets his free hand “accidentally” brush Louis soft dick. “Sure. That works. You’re ‘bud’ now.”

Louis giggles, and the sound echoes around the small and tiled walls. “That’s like a flower.”

“And you’re the sun.” He sets the soap down and squeezes shampoo into his hands, working it through Louis’ hair. They both go quiet as Harry rinses Louis’ hair and he returns the favor. Determined to break the silence – although it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, more introspective – Harry brushes past his dick again, giving his thigh a squeeze this time.

Louis moans. “Barely any room in here,” he hisses, although he manages to direct Harry’s hand back to his crotch.

Harry lets his eyes skim the stall. There really isn’t any space for many shenanigans. “No room to get down on our knees, or anything,” he muses. Then he grasps Louis’ cock in full and starts to stroke it quickly, determined to bring it up to full hardness. “But I can certainly get you off.”

Louis leans his head back and whimpers into the flow of the water, letting his right hand stretch out to press against the shower wall. Harry bites his lip and steps closer, kissing along the semicircle of Louis’ collarbone, stopping to suck against his favorite spot. Louis moans, and Harry feels his cock harden in his hands. Harry himself is half-hard by this point too, and he starts to pump Louis again, slowly but surely.

“Fuck,” Louis mutters, throwing his head back directly into the shower stream. The water is raining down on his hair, dripping across his features. Harry kisses along his chest more, reaching his other hand behind him to squeeze at his arse cheeks.

Louis’ breath hitches and he thrusts forward into Harry’s fist, bringing his head out of the spray and opening his eyes. Harry keeps jerking, drawing up and back a little to make eye contact. He smirks at the way Louis is biting his lip to keep from crying out further.

Louis hands start fumbling in front of him, across Harry’s chest and down, down further to grasp his now plenty-hard cock. Harry hisses at the contact and drops his head back into Louis’ shoulder.

They get off like that, stroking in all the right ways, leaving each other gasping into the steamy and wet shower, biting into each other on the chest, arms, shoulders, and neck.

Harry whines desperately into Louis’ ear as he curls his fingers around his cock in a particularly delightful way, bucking his hips without control against his own hand that’s still pulling on Louis.

“I wanna come,” Louis says, panting heavily into Harry’s curls.

Harry just lets out a strangled groan.

A few more pumps from each and both are coming into the other’s hands within seconds of each other, with gasps and shouts galore, the spurts of white washing down the drain as soon as they drip down their fingers. They stay in their positions for a few moments longer, still gripping each other around the shoulders and hips, riding through their orgasms and laughing into their faces.

“That,” Louis murmurs, pressing a kiss to Harry’s mouth, “was embarrassingly quick.”

Harry grabs Louis by the sides, making him squeal in laughter. “Or we’re just amazingly good with our hands.”

Louis steps back, letting the water reach between their torsos and get them clean. “I like that version of events better.”

Harry shrugs, leaning across Louis to switch the water off before he steps out of the tiny stall. “It’s the truth.”

The rest of their day is as relaxing as their morning was – they dry off, order room service up for breakfast, and lounge around watching an on-demand film for a few hours before exploring the Wembley area for the rest of the afternoon. It’s so nice for Harry, to be able to walk around even the slightest bit physically affectionate with Louis, popping in and out of boutiques and taking silly selfies with each other before finding a small café to grab lunch at. Really, Harry is so content.

They head back to the hotel around five, meeting the rest of the lads upstairs as they freshen up for the show tonight. They pop into Zayn and Liam’s room to find Liam on his bed, Zayn fussing around him, and Niall sitting on a chair in the corner scrolling through his phone. Liam is, simply put, a nervous wreck.

“I haven’t performed in over six months, let alone to a broadcast for the whole damn country.”

“And Ireland,” Niall shoots in helpfully.

Zayn tosses a few button-ups and blazers his way from his suitcase. “Mix these. Hi, Louis and Harry.”

They enter the room and Louis sits on the bed opposite Liam and Zayn, pulling Harry into his lap. “Don’t fret, Liam. Besides, what the fuck are you talking about, ‘haven’t performed in over six months’? Everyone here has it on good account that you’re singing to a crowd at least once a week.”

Liam sighs in exasperation and yanks his jumper off before turning to the clothes Zayn brought out. “That doesn’t count.”

Harry snorts.

“What do you mean, doesn’t count?” Louis exclaims in mock-offense. “I’ll have you know we put on very classy, respected performances, and let’s be honest, it’s a good three-quarters thanks to you.”

Liam gets frustrated with the button-up and turns to Zayn with a pout. He obliges him, buttoning from the bottom up.

“Liam, calm down,” Harry tries to assure him. “If you get nervous or summat, just close your eyes and pretend you’re back in Manchester.”

“Dunno why you’re like this anyway,” Niall mutters. “You made it to third on the show. This is nothing compared to that.”

“It’s just…” Liam straightens the shirt out in the mirror. “Don’t think I’m gonna go for the blazer, by the way, thanks though.” He grabs a comb and starts running it through his hair that has a bit more fuzz to it than when he first cut it. “It’s just – hard to explain, why I’m feeling like this. I dunno.”

“I get you, mate,” Zayn says, handing him a belt and tie.

*

Soon enough it’s show time, and the group of lads, minus Liam, file into the studio and take their seats. They’re actually closer to the stage, this time, seated right behind a few of the former contestants that aren’t performing, with Niall and Zayn directly behind them. Liam worked his magic somehow, Harry supposes.

They have at least half an hour until the show actually starts, though, and they’re just witnessing sound checks and setups for now. Louis pulls him into to whisper into his ear, saying, “That’s Union J, in front of us.”

Harry leans forward, double-checking, and sits back in his seat. Union J – they were one of the groups from this year, voted off a few weeks back. They were okay, Harry thought, not exactly his type of music, but one of their members had come out to the public halfway through the season, and that’s what stuck out to him about them. They placed fairly well in the competition, and it didn’t seem that the revelation hurt them all that much. He would have followed the story more closely, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to see a successful coming out story, considering what he was dealing with right now – however messed up that may sound.

“I want to meet them,” Louis hisses, still quiet. “Like, can we say something?”

Harry shrugs with a smile. “Go ahead.” His voice has a hint of a dare to it.

And Louis Tomlinson isn’t about to pass up a dare. He leans across to the back of their seats and taps on one of their shoulders. “Um, excuse me?”

One of them – George, maybe, the only one without a J name – turns around with a friendly smile. “Hello…?”

Louis waves nervously and Harry has to restrain himself from laughing. He’s never seen him nervous, genuinely intimidated to speak to someone before. “Hi. We’re, uh – sorry if this is awkward. We’re here for a friend tonight, and saw you four, and just wanted to say that we’re fans.” He slings an arm around Harry jovially, roping him into the conversation.

The other three lads turn around as well and they all seem quite friendly, introducing themselves and making small talk.

“Who are you here for?” JJ asks.

“Liam Payne,” Harry says. “He’s my roommate at uni.”

“Oh, we’ve met him. He seems like a good bloke. Talented, too.”

After another minute or so they turn back around, and Harry is nudging Louis to give him a congratulatory grin, a little squeeze for bucking up and talking to them. But Louis is leaning forward again, giving Jaymi, the one who came out, another tap.

“I’m sorry to bother you again. But I just – I was really amazed, by what you said earlier in the competition. That must have taken – it was a risk, I’m sure, but know that there are a lot of people behind you.”

Maybe Louis paid more attention to this season than Harry thought. He’s completely earnest, speaking to him, and it’s making Harry’s stomach twist a certain sort of way.

Jaymi turns back again to face them both. “Thanks for saying that. It was different for me, though, than for most people in my position, because I had been out in my personal life before the show. So I felt like I had to do it right from the beginning, or never.”

Louis is enraptured, staring at him and nodding his head as Jaymi speaks. Harry covertly slips his hand between their chairs, giving Louis’ thigh a little tap with his fingers.

Jaymi looks between the two of them, back and forth before his eyes rest on Louis again.

Harry can feel Louis swallow next to him. “I’m a third-year footballer,” he says softly.

Jaymi nods slowly. “Good luck with that.”

Louis is a bit quiet until the show starts, and Harry fits their arms together, leaning in for a cuddle.

When the production gets into full swing, though, his energy levels are back up high and they’re engaging with Zayn and Niall behind them, hotly anticipating Liam’s arrival onstage.

“He told us not to embarrass him,” Niall reminds everyone.

“Nonsense,” Louis snaps playfully. “He brought us here, he deals with the rambunctious and loving consequences.”

Zayn hushes all of them as the stage lights dim and Liam steps on and center. Louis and Niall are bouncing in their seats, Harry is crossing his fingers for luck, and Zayn is watching intently and still.

_One Thing_ starts, and Louis nudges Harry discreetly. “You sang that to me.”

_Jesus_. That night, only the third time he’d seen Louis, feels like a lifetime ago in Harry’s mind. In reality, it hasn’t even been three months. But still – “I didn’t sing it _to_ you,” Harry whispers in return. “Dunno if I ever told you, but that, and my little alteration was completely coincidental. I swear.”

Louis won’t believe him. “Rubbish. You were serenading me, Styles.”

Louis doesn’t believe him. Harry figures that it won’t hurt to let him think that way.

Liam does fantastically, of course – he had nothing to worry about. Harry can see a few giveaways regarding his nerves here and there, but his performance is more than solid and his stage presence has improved since he saw him on X Factor in 2010. After he finishes the song, Harry, Louis, Niall, and Zayn make it their mission to be the loudest group in the audience, clapping and cheering and just toeing the line of obnoxiousness.

The show ends (James Arthur won, much to Harry’s chagrin) and they’re all filing out in a rather packed line toward the curb where they’ll be waiting for the car to take them to tonight’s celebratory party. It’s quite chilly, and once again Louis is underdressed for the weather.

“Just take my blazer, Lou, I’ve been wearing it for some, and it’s not all I have,” Harry insists, moving to unbutton his jacket.

“Honestly, Harold, I’m fine as it is.”

“You’re freezing.”

Zayn snorts at their exchange. “You sound like his mother, Harry.”

Harry wrinkles his face. “Ew. You’re gross.”

“No, you just made it gross,” Zayn shoots back with an accusing point.

“How much longer until Liam comes around?” Niall complains.

“Just got a text, he’ll be another five or ten minutes,” Zayn says, scrolling through his phone.

At that moment, a woman steps up to Louis with a grin. “Excuse me? I think I recognize you, are you Louis Tomlinson?”

Louis smiles at her politely, if a bit uneasy. “Yes ma’am.”

“Fantastic, pardon me for approaching you, but I’m from the _Manchester Guardian_ , and I know that you have some decisions coming up. I just wanted to wish you the best of luck.”

Oh. She’s a reporter. And she recognized Louis. Harry feels very embarrassed for offering him his jacket all of a sudden. It was a careless thing to do, on a street corner and all.

Louis smiles again, albeit more forced this time. “Thank you, I’m looking forward to everything.” He turns back to his friends, clearly assuming that the exchange is finished, but she stays.

“It must be difficult, yes? Balancing the high-profile clubs you must have making offers to you across the country between your family and girlfriend and –”

Louis turns around quickly, cutting her off the second that “girlfriend” leaves her mouth. “I can’t give interviews about this yet, and they’ll have to be scheduled when the time comes. Sorry.” He doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. She backs off, and he makes a complete one-eighty back to the group. “Fuck that shit,” he mutters under his breath.

Harry frowns. He wants to sling an arm around Louis or something, but he figures that he should wait until they get into the car.

Niall laughs nervously. “That was weird.”

“Better get used to it, _Louis Tomlinson_ ,” Zayn adds, trying to lighten the mood.     

Thankfully, the car pulls up then with Liam inside. As they pile in, Louis grabs Harry’s arm gently and whispers in his ear. “I’m sorry, love.”

Harry smiles and rubs him softly as he settles in the third bench next to him. “ _I’m_ sorry, for you.” Then he turns his attention to Liam, seated in front of Louis, and grasps his shoulders with both hands. “You did fucking amazing, mate, you better have fucking heard us!” He isn’t about to let a reminder of all the crap that they deal with in Manchester sully what should be Liam’s night.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t affected by it, though. The past day and a half have been absolutely fantastic, having escaped the world of the strict closet and falling into a more relaxed pattern. But no – it can’t be escaped. Louis is barely a high-profile person, but stick the wrong person into the mix and there you have it. Harry and Louis’ situation isn’t confined to the city they live in, or their daily schedule – rather, Harry realizes with blunt force, it is woven into the confines of their relationship. And to be fully honest, that makes him more than a little ill. He does his best to put it out of his mind, though, at least for the rest of the trip.

The ride to the club is fairly quick, filled with praise and excitement for the sake of Liam. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this happy and in his element, and realizes that coming back to the industry (this time with a solid support system behind him) might not be the worst thing in the world.

The club itself is buzzing – if Harry thought it was energetic last night, it’s absolutely on fire tonight. He can tell from the line that it’s filled with everyone from the audience and everyone from the stage, and the security that the bouncer is putting all the people entering through is far more rigorous than before.

Liam is bouncing, chatting a mile a minute. “I’m getting so drunk tonight, I’m so excited. It’s been so long since I’ve been here, in this atmosphere, and I feel great. I need to introduce you all to everyone.”

Harry laughs happily at his enthusiasm as they make their way to the bar, Liam ordering round of shots to start them off. “Don’t worry, it’s still an open bar tonight, too.”

Niall makes the sign of the cross on his chest, murmuring, “I’m going to hell.”

Louis leans against the counter, raising his eyebrows. “Are you actually going to stay tonight, mate? Not gonna ditch us all for your lady?”

Niall flips him off and downs the drink. “No, you arsehole, I got all of my sexual frustration out last night, as I’m sure you did, too.”

Louis looks Harry up and down pointedly. “Yeah, not so sure about that.”

Harry blushes into the shot glass despite himself.

Liam shakes his head. “Nope, not the time. C’mon, I want you to meet Ed.”

“Ed Sheeran?” Harry lets out.

“Yes, of course. I think you’d get on well. You should meet him.” He grabs his hand and drags him onto the floor, the rest of the lads close behind.

They find the ginger singer soon enough, and he pulls Liam into a warm hug. Harry had always thought that he seemed like a laid-back and friendly guy.

“Nice to see you again, Liam. I thought you’d disappeared off the face of the planet, I wasn’t even sure if we’d see you here tonight.”

Liam pulls back, smiling. “Not disappeared, just at uni. Thought I guess that’s one and the same. These are my mates from Manchester, though. Harry, Louis, Niall, and Zayn.”

“Hi.” He shakes each of their hands in turn.

Harry can’t help but blurt out, “Really nice to meet you, I’m a big fan.”

Ed laughs and thanks him. They all converse for a few minutes before grabbing drinks off of a waiter’s passing platter and moving toward the dance floor. He’s a nice guy.

Liam drags them away again before they can get into anything, introducing him to more people left and right. He’s fitting back into the element well, especially when he gets a few drinks down, and Harry’s left wondering why he was so nervous to come back in the first place.

“Oh, and I need you to meet Lou and Tom.”

Harry doesn’t recognize the names, and asks Liam as much.

“Lou, her name is actually Louise, but she goes by Lou, is the hairdresser for the show’s acts, Tom is her partner. They’re really fantastic people and we were pretty close as friends when I lived here. They have a little girl too, Lux, she’s so cute. C’mon, let’s find her.”

And yes, Harry, and everyone, really, gets on quite well with Lou and Tom. They’re a hilarious couple, bouncing off of each other and easily welcoming the four new boys into their conversation. Liam finds them sitting at a booth and they all slide in, talking for a while over a few light drinks. They show them pictures of baby Lux, who’s about a year old, too, and she’s just a ball of joy from all that Harry can tell. Harry turns to Louis with the phone and pictures and they coo quietly at the baby, making Lou laugh.

They also find out that Tom is a tattoo artist and has quite the impressive collection of ink on himself, and they spend a while showing off pieces and asking him for suggestions about what to get next. Tom in particular in impressed with Harry’s A when he finds out that it was sketched by Zayn beforehand.

“Personalized pieces like that are my favorite,” he muses. “They always mean a little bit more when they have the touch of someone you actually know. Handwriting in particular; it’s like the person is marking you.” And, well, Harry had never really thought of it as _Zayn_ marking him, because he doesn’t have particularly strong feelings about that one way or the other, but it’s an idea for future pieces that he tucks away into the back of his mind.

In time, they split again and Harry drags Louis to the center of the floor.

Unfortunately, neither Harry nor Louis are really all that comfortable with dancing as freely as they were last night, considering what just happened back at the studio combined with the fact that there are so many more high profile people at the club tonight. They’re still dancing together, but they make sure to switch off with Niall and Zayn a bit and not to get too clingy.

Pretty soon, Liam is yanking Zayn away from Louis and dragging him off somewhere. Louis jokingly ropes Harry back into him and they dance until Liam comes back with a wild, drunken grin on his face. “Call me Dr. Love,” he says, popping his head between theirs.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Liam, that was the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

“But I am!” he insists with a drawl. “Introduced Zayn to Perrie and everything. Think they’re hitting it off, I just talked for two minutes and left.”

“You’re a good man, Liam Payne,” Harry says loudly, slapping him on the back.

“I know. Now excuse me, I have to see a man about a tonic.” He scurries off as quickly as he appeared, leaving Harry and Louis to their own devices again. (Niall disappeared a while ago, pulled in by a few girls who were giggling over his dimples and accent.)

Harry does think that it was good of Liam, though, to go through with it and introduce Zayn to someone. They don’t talk about it anymore, and Harry doesn’t know where his feelings stand on the matter now, but considering their (lack of) history, he does think that it says a lot about him.

Louis yanks Harry closer and whispers in his ear. “I want to drink more. I want to get really, really pissed, so I can pull you in and grind against you and make you hard without feeling guilty, and I want to pull you away and suck you off and kiss your mouth and do this –” He threads one hand into Harry’s curls and presses another into his arse. “Do _that_ without feeling like I shouldn’t.”

Harry gulps, unsure how to respond.

Louis keeps his hand in Harry’s head. “I am slowly being seduced by your curls,” he murmurs lightly, clearly a bit more than tipsy. “So let’s go get a few more drinks.”

He lets his face fall against the side of Louis’. “Is that the best idea?”

“No, but ask me if I care right now.”

Harry breathes deeply. People are pressing in around them, the music seems to be getting louder, and the temperature is rising as well. He looks around – this club is so posh, so high-tech, and everything is pure white, shining platinum, or jet black. He’s trying to keep his mind clear, away from the boy pulled tight against him and begging for everything that they both want. Clearly, he’s going to have to be the rational one tonight.

His lips graze Louis’ ear. “Tell you what. We stay like we are now, grab another drink or two later, but stay on the right side of wasted. Then when we get back to the room we go for as late as we can.”

Louis whines petulantly. “If I recall correctly, we had an incredibly fine round last night pissed off of our arses.”

Harry smirks. “So imagine what it would have been like had we been sober.” Louis shifts against him, digging in tighter into his hips and crotch. “Louis, you’re so gone as it is. Give it a bit, then we’ll see, okay?”

Louis whines again and is about to respond when something behind him catches his eye. “What the fuck?” He brings his hand up from Harry’s bum and squeezes his bicep.

“What is it?”

“Behind you. Something…weird.”

Harry turns around, lining up with Louis, and sees James, the evening’s winner, speaking loudly – really, it’s almost yelling – with all of Union J.

“They’re drunk too?” Harry offers.

“No, but like…” Louis makes hand gestures to indicate the crowd that’s formed around the group, and they move in closer to see what’s happening. They can hear a bit of the words being thrown around and Harry finds that it’s James spitting most of them out – and they’re slurs. Homophobic and sexist and all around disgusting, awful slurs, as a matter of fact.

“Jesus Christ,” Louis mutters under his breath.

Harry pushes forward a little, trying to see what’s happening up close, and Louis follows, grabbing his hand. He squeezes tightly.

It’s a verbal altercation all right, and it’s definitely one-sided on James’ part. He’s focusing his hate on Jaymi, it seems, although he can’t get directly to him because he’s being blocked by the other three.

Harry meets Louis’ eyes and sees disgust reflected in them. They look around, trying to see if anyone’s coming in to stop, but people are mostly watching and just milling about. There are a few trying to pull him away, but it’s obvious that no one wants to get particularly close. Harry swallows tightly, trying to block out everything that he’s hearing.

“I don’t like this,” Louis mutters.

“Can we, like –”

Harry is cut off when Lou slips in to their right. “Fucking A,” she says, drink still in hand. She turns to face them. “A bouncer’s coming to calm him down, don’t worry.”

Louis’ eyes glint in anger. “Calm him down? Shouldn’t they, like, kick him out?”

She shakes her head and nods for them to follow her away from the crowd. Harry takes one last glance at the shit going down ahead of them, at the sputtering, red-faced drunk X Factor winner and the furious and confused boyband opposite him.

“Listen,” Harry sputters, following Louis and Lou. “You can’t leave them like that, he’s attacking them, what the fuck is going on?”

Lou sets her drink on a counter and nods them toward a hallway by the exit.

“He’s pissed,” she says simply. “Look, nearly all of them are. I’m not saying he isn’t a douchebag, a prick, an arsehole, a homophobic piece of shit, because he’s all of that.”

Louis laughs bitterly. “And that excuses it? He’s shitting all over them, he’s in a place of power or summat, and they’re just kids, kids who came in fourth and are trying to pave a way in the industry. And – and Jaymi’s out, you can’t let him say that shit to him, it isn’t right –”

Lou falls onto a couch and gestures for them to take a seat across from her. “I said, I called the bouncers. They’ll pull him away, might stick him in a car and take him home. Look, boys, this probably seems like a shock to you, and it doesn’t exactly happen every day, but when you have all sorts of people packed together for something like tonight and you mix booze into the picture, it isn’t the most abnormal thing to happen. It’ll bite him in the arse someday, I’m sure of that. I know – I’m sorry you had to see it, hear it, but that’s how it is.”

Harry and Louis just look at each other before turning back to her. Louis crosses his arms. “Well, if that’s the way it is here then I want the fuck out. I’ve seen my fair of shit but that was something else. I’ll go find Liam, call a cab, something.”

Harry can’t help but agree with what’s coming out of Louis’ mouth. He feels ill – not only from the hate James was spewing, but from the circumstances surrounding it. Someone who takes that leap and comes out – against the grain, against advice, probably – doesn’t deserve to be attacked like that. No one deserves to be attacked like that, but the situation just compounds upon the injustice of it all.

And Harry is crushed, because he thought that meeting Jaymi and seeing how comfortable and confident he was had done him and Louis, the both of them, some good back at the studio. That, you know, maybe coming out wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe it wouldn’t apply to them for a year or two, but once Louis was settled into a football career, it would have been something to consider.

Now he feels idiotic for thinking that way, because of course this had to happen and erase every good thought that the evening’s earlier events had brought about. In combination with their run-in with the reporter and the reminder that they could never really escape, he’s feeling quite trapped now, actually. Trapped in the closet, that is, and thinking about everything that led up to where he is now.

Harry would very much like to get back to the calm and relaxing atmosphere of the hotel.  

Lou gets up with them. “Liam and your other friend, Niall, I think, left about half an hour ago. They told me to let you know, I was looking for you when I came up on the scene. Tom and I are heading out now; you can come with us, if you’d like.”

Harry and Louis share a glance and shrug.

“But are you at the hotel?” Harry asks. “You don’t have to go out of your way if you’re going back to your house.”

“No, no.” She opens the door and leads them outside, nodding to the bouncer as they leave. “We’re staying at the hotel for the weekend because it’s easier to handle all of the contestants when we’re all in one place. Lux is with my sister.”

There’s a cab pulled up to the curb with Tom in the front seat. Lou ushers them past the paparazzi who are clearly waiting for people who are a bit more high profile than a stylist and two random blokes to emerge from the club and into the back seat, squeezing in next to them. She fills Tom in on what just went down inside and he lets a low “Fuck,” out while resting his head back on the seat.

Harry still doesn’t understand the attitude that everyone took toward the altercation back there, but he decides that he likes this couple.

Louis pokes him in the side. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

Harry grumbles softly. “Your phone is easier to get to than mine.” He twists around in his jeans anyway, trying not to bump into Lou too much. “It’s half three, Louis.”

Louis hums softly and snatches Harry’s phone from him. “I don’t want to go to bed,” he says while pulling up Harry’s text messages with Zayn.

“What’re you doing?”

Louis holds the phone out of reach. “I dunno where he’s at.” He keeps a tight hold on the phone and leans forward. “Hey, Lou, did Liam say anything about our other mate Zayn?”

She laughs. “I think he left a while ago with one of the girls from Little Mix.”

Louis cracks up like a hooligan and hands the phone back to Harry. “Don’t need this then. I can’t believe he actually hit it off with her, that was supposed to be a puppy love, celebrity-type crush.”

Harry snorts. “We’re going to give him shit for it, yes?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Louis drawls. “It’s been far too long since he got any. I can’t wait to give him a taste of his own medicine.”

Harry snorts again and he gets an idea, seeing Tom in the front seat looking up pictures of tattoos on his phone. “You said you didn’t want to go to turn in yet, Louis?”

“Nah, I’m good. But if you mean that I don’t want to –”

Harry cuts him off. “No, I mean let’s, like, go do something. Tom, are there any tattoo parlors in the area?”

He looks up from his phone. “Not that I know of, but I actually have enough equipment with me to do simple pieces.”

Louis squawks. “Is that safe? Can’t you get HIV and infections and shit from –”

“Louis, I’m not going to hurt anyone. Small pieces, like a word or small shape, are quick, in and out things. I have the proper covers and new needles and aftercare products, contestants want to get inked after the show ends often. If a piece like that is what you had in mind.” He makes eye contact with Harry in the rearview mirror.

_Handwriting_. “Yeah, that’s all I wanted. Like –” He turns back to Louis. “If you think this is dumb, I don’t have to do it, but I was thinking about what Tom said earlier, with handwriting and marking and stuff, and if you’d just write a word…”

Louis’ eyes bug out. “Like a _couple’s_ tattoo?” And yes, they probably just outed themselves, but if it were to happen with anyone this weekend Harry figures that Lou and Tom are the safest people for it to happen with.

Harry shrugs. “Not – not in that sense. But, you know, marking our lives? My life. Where I am now. If you wanted.”

Louis laughs and presses a light touch to Harry’s arm. “That sounds kind of cool. Okay. Just, like, a small thing.”

“I don’t have enough ink for anything much bigger,” Tom adds.

Lou leans forward and catches their attention. “Are you two –”

“Yeah.” Louis shrugs nonchalantly. The ease with which he does it means more to Harry, surges more affection within him, than he’d expected.

“I figured. I didn’t want to say anything until you did. But let me just say now, I apologize for what you saw back in the club. Just – yes. I hope I didn’t come off as callous. I didn’t want to escalate the situation.”

Harry smiles. She looks like she genuinely feels bad, and he doesn’t want that. It isn’t her fault, and given that she doesn’t really hold any power over there in the scheme of things, she couldn’t have done anything either. “Don’t worry about it. But, you know, we’re not out. So if you could just keep it down, that’d be appreciated.”

“Of course.” She nods. “Footballer, like you told me.”

They pull up to and enter the hotel soon after, and it’s milling with people who are coming in as well. Harry figures that they probably left after the fight, too.

“Did you have it on account?” Harry asks Lou as quietly as they can while the four of them fight their way into a lift. “That he’s a homophobe?”

She shrugs and hits the button for the fourth floor. “Let’s just say that he isn’t the most open-minded person in the world. I’m rather amazed he kept it from the public long enough to win. I doubt they’ll hear about any of this for a long while, though, unfortunately.”

“You were right, Hazza,” Louis says loudly. “Jahméne should’ve won.”

They exit the lift and Tom crosses to the bedroom directly to the left. He turns around before keying open the door, asking, “How sober are you?”

Harry shrugs. He really hadn’t drank that much throughout the night, and he’d had his last drink at one…it’s four now. That isn’t even considering how the events of the last hour, hour and a half brought him back to his senses. Also, he’d intended to stay sober enough (and had done so) to romp with Louis all night. This means about the same, right? He tells Tom as much and they go in.

“Give me a bit,” Tom says, gesturing for Harry and Louis to sit on the untouched bed. He opens a suitcase full of tattooing equipment and starts to set up a station on one of the tables in the room.

“We should eat something,” Lou murmurs, reaching for the hotel phone and ordering up a pizza.

“Whaddaya want?” Louis asks Harry, bouncing on the mattress.

Harry pulls off his jacket, blazer, and blouse, leaving himself in the white tank he had on underneath. He looks down at his arm and bites his lip. “I know I want something here.” He gestures to the general area where he already has tattoos.

Louis scrunches his lip in a manner that is too cute and should be illegal and traces his thumb over Harry’s bicep. He grabs a pen off of the nightstand and toys around with it. “Do you know _what_ you want?”

And Harry looks at Louis, and he looks a bit tired and exhausted, probably from being under the club lights all night and dancing for hours, and his hair is sort of plastered to his head from the cold, and he just really reminds him of the boy who came hurtling into a bathroom at full speed when Harry was still a nervous, misplaced fresher in his first week on campus. And how the first word he was privileged to hear drop from Louis’ mouth was a simple “Hi.” Oh, what that word would go on to do to him.

“Hi,” Harry says simply, patting a spot on his bicep. “Just simple, do it here.”

Louis stares at him for a moment and it looks like he’s going to roll his eyes, laugh, or brush him off, until he just scrunches his face up in the sweetest way and lets his face drop into his hands “What the hell are we going to do with you?”

Harry grins cheekily. “Ink me.”

Louis huffs and pushes his hair out of his face as he straddles Harry and grips his arm with one hand and dashes out a quick “Hi” with the other. He bites his lip cutely and cocks his head to the side. “’S kinda crooked.”

Harry looks down. “No, it’s slanted. Angled. I like it.”

Louis tries to hide his grin but fails.

The pizza comes, and Lou insists that they eat it before Harry gets tattooed. They sit in a small circle, Harry and Louis with their legs kicked over each other, and it feels…weird to be open like this in front of people who aren’t their close friends. He isn’t sure what to make of it.

“Did you get to know Liam well or summat?” Louis asks as he dangles a slice of cheese pizza into his mouth.

Lou nods. “He’s a good lad. He had a bit of a difficult time adjusting, especially after the show ended and he started on the X Factor tour and such, but we always got along very well.” She takes a drink of water from a bottle by her bed. “Though I do wish he’d consulted me before going for that haircut.”

Everyone laughs.

Soon enough, Harry gets settled into the chair that Tom set up and lays his arm against the plastic-coated table. Louis is peering over his shoulder excitedly.

The gun whirs, and Harry’s nerves dance under his skin. “I’d let you trace it, with the gun, as it’s in your hand,” Tom tells Louis over Harry’s shoulder. “But considering we’re in a hotel room chair that’ll have to wait for another time.”

It’s over far too quickly, though, what with his only having to make a few strokes and all. But it’s there, the small “Hi,” pressed into his skin forever. And he likes it like that. Maybe he won’t be with Louis forever (although day by day he’s growing more accustomed to the idea, and he certainly wants to be with him for the foreseeable forever), but he’s quite certain that the past few months have been a very important and formative time in his life. He’s had to decide on a lot of things, come to grips with a lot, and face a lot. So he’s quite pleased with having this small reminder of how it all began etched onto him.

Tom is about to pack the gun away when Louis speaks up meekly. “Can I get something too? Do you have enough?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Tom sets the gun down and takes out another packaged needle. “That was barely anything.”

Harry stands up, pressing the bandage into his skin to seal it, and lets Louis switch the seat so he can get his right arm done. “Get the pen,” Louis urges him, and Harry comes back with it and a grin.

Louis stretches out his right forearm and points to a spot right above the stickman. “You know, ‘cause you kept all of your stuff in the same place. He holds his arm out expectantly and Harry bends down to write without asking.

He pens a small “Oops!” with two lines underneath for good measure and looks up. “That what you wanted?”

“Nothing else,” Louis says, grinning and turning to Tom.

His piece takes a bit longer, because of the extra lines and the curved letters, but it’s done within minutes as well and Harry only thinks that Louis is going to squeeze the circulation in his hand dead once. As Tom bandages the spot up, Louis says lightly, “I think that gets better every time.”

Tom laughs. “That’s a good spot for them. See how you handle something on your ribs or collarbone.”

“Don’t scare him,” Lou chides, stretching out on her bed and flicking the telly on.

“Wait,” Harry says, as Tom goes to put his things away for a second time. “Sorry. Time for one more? I’ll pay you.”

“You don’t need to pay me. Consider humoring me back at the club, paying attention to everything I showed you, payment enough. Don’t worry, just…” He fishes around for a third needle and comes up with one. “Okay, you’re good.”

Louis looks at him with a curious smirk and switches seats with him yet again.

“What now?” Tom asks as he fits the pieces of the gun together.

Harry gulps, not wanting to offend Louis or anything. But he’d been thinking, thinking about how with each piece he’s getting he’s sort of inking his life story into his body. And how the Hi represents Louis, and everything that came with him, but now he feels the need for something a little more blunt. He wants to wear his heart on his sleeve, because it would be a sort of subtle message that he doesn’t have to say anything about but that might stay unspoken between him and others. And when the time for it passes, it’ll be there, reminding him of what happened and not to take anything, any sort of freedom, for granted. To remember how things are now, how, in the future, things used to be.

So he asks Tom, “Think you can do a coat hanger?” and feels Louis shift next to him.

He looks up at Louis and feels Lou’s eyes on him, too. “Life, yeah? I think it, like, marks a time for me. Does it bother you?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, it’s for you. Anything on you will look nice.” He leans down to kiss Harry on the forehead and Harry blushes.

“You two are really cute,” Lou says as an offhand comment.

“We know,” Louis quips with a wink.

Harry points to a spot outside of his armpit, and Tom inks him, and Harry lets himself feel the sharp burn, because this work is a little bigger than the other two and it’s definitely curvier. But it’s good. He likes it. Louis even smiles a little when Tom pulls the gun away and whispers something in Harry’s ear about how he’s going to suck between the wires as soon as it’s healed Harry’s pretty sure that Lou hears that comment too and just pretends that she doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the irony of the chapter title. Hope you liked it!


	16. We Could Be Married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff fluffy fluff fluff. :)

They really did stay up all night. Harry and Louis are with Lou and Tom well through six and run into a giddy Zayn entering his own room on their way back to take an hour-long nap before they have to leave for the train station. (Louis only pouts a little that he never got the wild romp that Harry had promised.) The ride back is a long and painful one, and Harry and Louis are just trying to get a decent amount of sleep while their friends are chattering a mile a minute next to them and a loud and rambunctious family sits in the booth across. The couple ends up burrowing themselves into their coats and leaning into each other for the ride, getting maybe a half hour of solid rest overall. And then Harry has to dash right from the train station to his sociology lecture, only arriving ten minutes late. He slips into the back of the lecture hall so as not to draw attention to his arrival and to avoid Taylor.

Still, though, Harry thinks that the trip was a great thing for all of them. It gifted them a lot – a lot of fun and a lot of insight into the world outside of Manchester University. It was like a warning shot, for the year to come, almost. That life outside of these ivy, redbrick walls will afford them a few more opportunities but will also throw them curveballs when they least expect it, whether on a street corner or the middle of a dance floor.

Also, Harry really likes his new tattoos. Liam and Niall have a heart attack when they show them – “You got tattooed in a fucking hotel room?!” “How drunk were you?! – but Zayn just mutters “Sick,” and retreats into his starstruck, fucked out bliss. Niall and Liam then of course each launch into lengthy monologues of how incredibly _corny_ and _whipped_ it is to get the first words you said to your boyfriend inked on your arm.

“Like, I get if it was something really poetic, or really stupid, like…well, I dunno, but something memorable. But ‘Oops!’ and ‘Hi’? _Hi_ , Harry, really? Like, I don’t mean to give you shit or take the mickey out of you. But it’s really something, is all. Maybe I should strive for it. I dunno.” Niall in particular gives them hell.

Louis just laughs, says that he should be grateful it isn’t on his body then, and gives Harry a quick kiss smack on the face right before they pull into Manchester. Harry smirks like a fool for the rest of the day.

They settle back into campus life over the next few days, and Harry is relieved (if a bit guiltily) that the trip seems to take the edge off all the crap that had gone down between him and Louis and Taylor and his friends beforehand. Simply put, they’re good now. And Chelsea doesn’t hold the issue over Niall’s head, thankfully.

Harry’s at lunch with Zayn and Louis on Wednesday afternoon down in the cafeteria. Zayn had pouted the whole way through the line, complaining about the state of the food, but the only other option was going back to their flat and cooking something up, which no one had the time for – all the other eateries were starting to close up for Christmas holidays or switch to weird hours, so here they were stuck with partially-cooked, semi-bland food. Oh well.

“Has she texted yet?” Louis teases Zayn as they sit down. Harry has to hold back a laugh – Louis’ held true to his promise to give Zayn shit for his latest sexual encounter, and this is probably the third time that he’s asked since they got back.

Zayn throws a chip at him. “Mate, I told you I didn’t get her number. She’s a fucking celebrity, it was a one-time thing.”

Louis grabs the chip before it lands on the table and pops it into his mouth, winking at Harry. “I’m messing with you, you proper groupie, you. But you should do that more often. Go out and get laid, so this teasing thing isn’t one-sided.” He subtly nods between him and Harry and Harry can’t help but blush a little.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “We’ll see.”

Harry clears his throat, meaning to step into the conversation. He’s wanted to ask this for a while, and now that the holiday is coming up on them he really needs to get to it. “What’re you doing over break?” he blurts out, mainly directed to Louis.

“Oh, fuck!” Louis nearly spits out his mouth full of milk. “I was thinking about this, I meant to ask you over the weekend.”

Harry’s interest is piqued and he’s considerably less nervous than he was a few moments ago.

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before but my best mate from home, Stan, we always have a huge New Year’s bash. Like, full-on, wild, crazy, get so pissed you sleep the next day away sort of party.”

Zayn jolts as Louis talks, quickly placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder and stopping him.

“What?” Louis turns to Zayn and puts his sandwich down.

“What are you doing?” Zayn hisses, clearly uncomfortable and trying to avoid eye contact with Harry.

Louis stares him down then says loudly, “I’m inviting Harry to Doncaster for New Year’s. And you, as always, and I’m going to invite Liam and Niall, too.”

Zayn stares at him for a moment longer before dropping his hand and going back to his lunch.

“So?” Louis turns back to Harry.

And _yes_. Harry would love nothing more than to go to Doncaster, look around Louis’ hometown, meet his family (not as a boyfriend, of course, but still), and see his old stomping grounds. He had been planning on asking if he wanted to pop by Holmes Chapel quietly for a weekend, or meet him halfway for an afternoon, just because a month away from Louis sounded like a really long time. But he can absolutely roll with this. “Yeah!” he responds enthusiastically. “New Year’s sounds great.”

“Perfect.” Louis answers him as if he was confirming casual plans with a friend, but hooks his ankle around Harry’s under the table and pulls a little. “Come for a few nights. It’ll be a blast.” He drops his voice a little and glances around. The section of the dining hall they’re in is rather quiet, they always pick it like that. “I really want you to meet Stan. We’ve been mates since primary school, and, yeah…he knows, so.”

And Harry’s grinning.

Zayn nudges Louis again and he sighs. “Oh, and, um, Eleanor is coming as well.” He pauses before saying anything else, holding a finger up and asking for a moment while he takes his phone out and starts texting someone. Harry is confused for a minute until his phone buzzes.

_Louis the Tommo_

_I’m sorry. Just, you know, she has to? If all goes well and I get more coverage in the papers in the upcoming year they might be interviewing people from Donny. So David told me I should have her come to the party._

That’s understandable, Harry supposes. Not comfortable, but understandable. And he’s really just over the moon at being invited to something of Louis’ at his home at all, so he’ll more than happily accept the status quo of the moment. He shoots a sly grin at Louis and types out his response. _Of course. xx Can’t wait for it. You’ll have to show me all around. :) ;)_

Louis reads the message and laughs. “Definitely.”

Zayn downs his water, setting the glass down empty and still looking a bit uncomfortable. “When’re you both leaving?”

Louis jumps in, positively giddy now. “Saturday, let’s go out Friday, get proper wasted again, and have a last hurrah in the city before retiring to our tiny little hometowns.”

Harry sighs and drops his head into his hand on the table. “Can’t. Gemma is picking me up on her way down Friday night. I’d stay and just make her come back up the next day, but my mum has been kind of upset because I haven’t come home at all. You know, living less than an hour away and all, I guess she expected me to visit a bit.”

Zayn laughs. “Mums. I totally get that, mine was the same way my first year away.”

Louis just swipes his phone open and taps out another text.

_Louis the Tommo_

_I’ll just have to take you out tomorrow night then, the two of us. :)_

And yeah, Harry can work with that too.

*

Harry is in his room the next afternoon, fresh out of lecture, and trying to put together an outfit for his alleged date with Louis. He doesn’t know where they’re going yet, so he’s pulling out all sorts of different options. Jumpers, button-ups, blazers, trousers, skinnies, ties, scarves, the lot. His room is already in disarray from both him and Liam packing up, so it’s all a bit of a surreal mess right now.

He really can’t believe that his first term at uni is basically over. Between the drama and the trips and the lectures, it’s felt like an absolute eternity. But it hasn’t been – it’s been three months to the day. Three months ago he was whining about his mum not leaving him alone fast enough, basically barging in on Niall’s room and life while he was playing the guitar, and casually outing himself to Jeff when he still could. He really doesn’t know how he’s gotten away with that, considering the bad blood between the two of them and all. If he dwells on what could happen too much he gets ill, so he tries not to.

Now he’s dating and _in love with_ one of the biggest student names on campus, has a solid group of friends, and has made enough of his own mistakes for what he thinks is a lifetime. In a way, he’s ready to leave and come back to start fresh after exams in January.

A lot can change in a quarter of a year, he supposes.

Harry lays out a pair of skinnies and a pair of trousers on his bed along. He drapes the orange jumper over the skinnies and his red scoop neck t-shirt with one of his more worn blazers over the trousers. There. He’ll pair either with his brown boots and be set to go for whatever Louis has up his sleeve.

Right after he gets back to packing up the rest of his things, he gets a text message.

_Louis the Tommo_

_HAROLD WE NEED YOU IN THE AUDITORIUM NOW !!!_

He furrows his eyebrows to himself, clearly a bit confused.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Okay it’s not that urgent but someone put it in the student body’s mind that we were putting on an impromptu karaoke tonight and it got back to us. So apparently we are. The place is a mess, we’re headed over now, Zayn already texted Liam and Niall, can you join us? Will reward you later tonight. ;) xx_

Louis’ versatility in texting never ceases to amaze Harry. He taps out a snarky reply even though he’s already putting his shoes on and ready to go. _But what about our daaaaaaate???_

His coat is on and he’s locking the door when he gets a reply.

_Louis the Tommo_

_We’ll do something after, love, don’t worry. :)_

Louis so sweet that Harry would puke if he wasn’t so enamored by him.

He barges into the auditorium within ten minutes and finds Niall high on a ladder cursing Liam out. “You fucker, hold it steady, what’s the use of you standing there like an idiot if you aren’t going to fucking hold me in place?”

Zayn is connecting wires at the base of the stage for the sound system. “I like the black lights, though. Let’s use the black lights.”

And Louis, of course, is standing a pointed distance away from the rickety ladder with his arms crossed, giving directions to everyone. “Lighting is my jurisdiction, Malik, and black lights absolutely do not fall within our aesthetic.”

“My jurisdiction is the microphones, why the hell am I up here?” Niall yells, his head still hidden behind the curtain framing the proscenium.

Louis shrugs and crosses to pick up gels from a cart. “Dunno. Your problem.”

Yes, it’s a mess, as Louis had said, but certainly not impossible and definitely doable within two hours.

Harry stands back and watches the scene unfold with amusement until Liam turns and notices him. “Oi, Harry, stop lazing around, come help us.”

He snorts and makes his way to the stage, stopping to bump fists with Zayn before he clambers over the apron. Louis gives him a hand to his feet and yanks him into a kiss, gripping his forearms and sucking on his bottom lip straight away.

“Oi!” Liam repeats, and Niall echoes him for good measure.

Harry pulls away with a pout and holds his hands out as if to say that he’s ready for whatever they need. “So we have _fans_ now?” he asks.

“Yes, apparently,” Louis tuts, passing Harry a broomstick and gestures for him to start on the dusty stage. “Between Zayn and me, we got a good twenty messages each. All a bit odd, if you ask me.”

“One last hurrah,” Liam offers, finally finding a secure position in which to grip the base of the ladder. “Before break, and exams, and all that.”

“I’ll take it,” Louis replies, crossing over to pass him the new gels for the lighting.

“Sing tonight,” Harry suggests, weaving in and out of the wings with the broomstick.

“Who, me?” Louis steps over to him and stands there with his arms over his chest. Harry supposes that he’s trying to look quite intimidating, but with his oversized jumper (it might actually be Harry’s), loose jeans, and large beanie, he’s failing at it. He actually looks quite cute, cuddly like a small kitten or something. And then Harry is filled with images and sensations of Louis spanking his arse, gripping him tightly, fucking into him, and he’s overwhelmed once again with how incredibly flexible this boy’s personality is. He gulps and tries to calm down, leaning against the broom, before he pops a boner in front of everyone. Louis seems to catch on to his predicament, giving him the signature eyebrow raise and _licking his lips_ , of all things.

“Yeah,” Harry says, his voice even. He digs his palm into the top of the broom handle. “You told me you’d do one sometime, why not tonight?”

Louis shifts his weight from one foot to the other and his hip pops in the most distracting way. “If I recall, I told you to pick one out for me and I’d consider it. So? Any suggestions?”

“Uhhh…” Harry’s mouth goes dry and his mind blank. Literally all he wants to do right now is let the broom clatter to the ground and drag Louis to the dressing room, sucking him off in there like he’s wanted to for months. Without thinking, he beckons Louis closer and whispers not-so-subtly into his ear, “Lou, can I give you a blowjob?”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and grips Harry’s shoulder. “I’d love it if you just wait.”

“It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes!” They’re interrupted by a singing Niall descending from the ladder to grab the gels from Liam, staring them right down.

Liam sputters in laughter, accidentally knocking the ladder harshly to its side and causing Niall to stumble the last three rungs down and to the ground, sprawled out on his stomach. At this sight, Zayn loses it, spitting the coffee he was drinking out of a travel mug across the soundboard. “Shit!” He leaps up and unbuttons his cardigan quickly, draping it across the board to try and soak it up. Liam bends over Niall, trying to help him up, but nearly doubling over himself, still laughing.

Harry sinks his head into his hands, not sure if he’s mortified for himself or embarrassed for his friends.

Louis lets out a high-pitched laugh. “They can’t handle us. Weak, I say, weak.” He deliberately crosses behind Harry to give his arse a squeeze before walking over to the fallen ladder and righting it before even turning to Liam and Niall.

“If anyone cares,” Zayn says pointedly after five minutes of cleaning up, “The sound board will be all right.”

Later in the evening, but before anyone has arrived yet, Louis pops out of a wing to wrap his arms around Harry. “Well, what are you doing?”

“Huh?” Harry pushes back from the large set piece he was moving, from who knows what production, to lean his head against Louis’ shoulder.

“Singing. What are you singing?”

“Who said I’m singing?”

“I did. Just now. You always sing, so you have to do it tonight. Tradition.”

Harry laughs. “We have a lot of traditions, don’t we?” he teases, referencing Louis’ insistence on keeping his hands in his hair during sex last weekend.

Louis picks up on it and swats the side of his leg. “Mmhmm.”

“I dunno.” Harry tries to answer the question. “Hit me with something.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis says lowly and steps away from Harry for a moment.

“Oh my God,” he hears Zayn yell from the table. Apparently the acoustics in the auditorium are fantastic, considering everything they’ve tried to be subtle about tonight is getting picked up on. Liam and Niall, at least, are clueless to the innuendo.

“Do that thing we wrote,” Liam suggests.

Right – the song they’d been piecing together for the past few weeks in Harry’s book. “But that’s not nearly ready,” he protests. “It’s just, like, lines and stuff. And it’s meant to have backup vocals and stuff.”

Louis pauses for a moment and thinks. “It’s enough to give it a go,” he urges. “I mean, people have done spoken-word type stuff before, just have Niall backing you up vocally and with some chords.”

“Plus,” Liam continues, pushing the ladder together and setting it backstage. “It’ll be like a practice run. If we actually hear it performed for people we’ll know what to change. Try it, Harry.”

“But it’s your song.”

“Rubbish. Songwriters demo their pieces all the time. Do it,” Liam insists.

And he figures, why not? So he gets his book out and starts running through the lines they already have written down, because the auditorium is already pretty much sorted and people will be coming in any minute now. He already has most of the lyrics down, and he steps backstage with Niall to run through it once or twice.

The house is full when he and Niall cross the stage to canter down the steps and take a seat in the front and left with Liam. Chelsea slides into the seat on the aisle by Niall, alone, and coughs pointedly loudly as she swings her arm around his shoulders.

_At least she’s here_ , he thinks. For Niall’s sake.

Louis coughs into his lavalier and taps at it with a finger. “Hi everyone!” he says to a lot of feedback and subsequently stares Zayn down with a cheeky grin until he fixes it. “Apparently you all wanted to be here tonight, because you wouldn’t leave Zayn and me alone, so here we are. Enjoy the holiday, study for your exams, and so forth…Actually, don’t do that, just have fun. Who’s up first?”

Halfway through the show, Louis changes his methodology and instead of asking for a volunteer, he calls out, “Alright!” right in Harry’s direction. “Get on up here and give us that demo.” He’s grinning wide and although he looks tiny in his large jumper, his presence onstage is larger than life and commanding. Harry would probably follow him off of a cliff if he asked in this moment, so of course he drags Niall onstage to perform.

Louis passes him the microphone stand and Niall grabs a chair and his guitar, fitting himself with a lavalier and strumming out the simple chords they’d set up for the piece. Louis hops down and pulls a folding chair beside Zayn, looking up expectantly.

Harry adjusts the stand and licks his lips to wet them. He shouldn’t be nervous, because it isn’t as if everyone who gets on this stage delivers award-winning performances – quite the opposite, really – but he mostly doesn’t want to butcher the piece. They all put some effort into it here and there, but he’d say that at least half of the lyrics and formatting came from Louis. No pressure, none at all.

_“My hands, your hands_

_Tied up like two ships”_

Niall comes in lightly with _“You don’t understand, you don’t understand…”_

And they fall into a rhythm easily, Harry taking most of the lyrics and Niall jumping in where they overlap.

Harry continues,

_“I’m sorry if I say I need you_

_But I don’t care I’m not scared of love,”_ adding an extra riff to the last word. He hopes that Louis gets the emphasis, because it’s really quite fantastic to be standing up here and singing these words to everyone. They may not be able to up and proclaim their relationship for their world to hear, but he can stand here, now and sing these words, these words that they’ve written.

They finish the song with a soft strum of Niall’s guitar and the auditorium erupts into applause. All Harry does is let his eyes drift down to below the stage and finds Zayn grinning wildly, giving them both a thumbs-up. Louis is clapping softly, his smile gentle and eyes crinkling at the edges. Harry wants to grab his face and just hold it there, stare into those eyes and that expression forever.

Instead, he leans forward, back into the microphone, and says, “Did you like it?” to the crowd.

Various students shout back very a very enthusiastic “Yes!”

Harry smiles. “Thank you. For the record, songwriting credits go to myself, Zayn Malik, Niall Horan, Liam Payne, and Louis Tomlinson. Hopefully you’ll hear it around.” He lets Louis’ name roll off of his tongue and relishes the moment.

*

They’re cleaning up after – it’s more of a feat than usual, considering they have to clear the area for holidays – and Niall’s the first to complain.

“Where the fuck did he go?” he asks, on the ladder again but this time with Chelsea to steady him. She’s been blatantly avoiding Harry and he’s rather grateful for it.

“Who?” Zayn asks from his sound board.

“Louis fucking Tomlinson, first he sticks me up here to put everything together and then he disappears after he promised he’d take it all down.”

Chelsea hums from beneath him. “It’s a dick move, really. Sorry you all have to deal with that.”

And Harry really isn’t up to dealing with that kind of idiocy. Louis’ been gone all of five minutes, and when he stepped into the lobby it looked like he was taking a call. God knows how many of those he has these days. He _isn’t_ about to let Chelsea rag on him like this. “’S not a dick move,” he says loudly, pretending to busy himself with untangling microphones while sitting on the stage. “He’s on a phone call. It’s more’n likely his recruiter calling with news or a meeting or summat. Cut him a break, will you?” Harry is trying really hard to remain diplomatic, if only for Niall.

“Sure,” she says lowly, clearly trying to avoid speaking to him except for the very minimum.

Niall sighs and steps down the ladder. “Chels, I’m kidding. I love Louis. He’s a lovable dick.”

Liam snorts as he pulls one of the side curtains closed. “I’m sure Harry here can speak to that.”

Before anyone can get a retort to _that_ comment out, Louis comes striding down the house aisle, shouting, “Missed me? Niall, get down from there, I told you I’d finish the lights.” He climbs the stairs and kneels by Harry, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Sorry about that, I was sorting tonight out.”

Harry turns to face him and is centimeters away from bumping noses with him. He giggles lightly. “Sorting what out?”

Louis squeezes his nose gently. “Our date, silly. I told you I was taking you out before you leave.”

“You can do that?” Chelsea asks a bit too loudly. And presumptively as well, considering that it’s obvious that Harry and Louis are in a private conversation.

“Hmm?” Louis looks over Harry’s head. “Yes, I know people,” he responds shortly, before turning back to Harry. “Fixed us a table at Rosso.”

Harry starts to roll each microphone up and sort them into the plastic storage container. “I’m not dressed properly for that, Louis,” he mumbles.

“And you think I am? No, just go back to your room, change, and meet me right at the restaurant. Does that work?”

Harry smiles and pats Louis on the knee. “Perfect, then. What time is it for?”

“Eleven, hope you don’t mind being out a little late.” Louis gives him a quick kiss before getting up and crossing over to Niall.

Harry dashes home as quickly as he can when they leave the auditorium at ten-thirty and is half-changed into his blazer outfit by the time Liam comes in after him, rolling his eyes and laughing. “Have fun,” he says off-handedly as Harry slips the shirt over his head.

“Planning on it,” he mumbles beneath the fabric.

“If you come back before…” Liam pauses, apparently thinking. “Two or three, I’ll be solidly disappointed in you.”

Harry snorts as he tucks the shirt loosely into his slacks. “I don’t plan on coming back at all, mate.”

Liam gives him a thumbs-up and a grin. “Get it, then.”

Harry rolls his eyes and finishes setting his outfit and hair just right. “See you tomorrow afternoon, then, before we head out?”

Liam nods. “Right on, Harry.”

Harry makes it to the restaurant barely five minutes late, ducking behind the podium by the front door and catching his breath as he waits for Louis. He shows up within minutes as well, dressed in a pair of slacks himself and a light blue button-up. Harry delivers a quick peck to his cheek before they step inside, whispering in his ear, “I like the blue. Brings out your eyes.”

He can tell that Louis’ trying hard not to blush as the host leads them to their table.

Louis insists on pulling out Harry’s chair for him as a sort of payback, and Harry is giggling so hard that he nearly stumbles over his own feet settling into his seat.

Louis gazes at him fondly as he sits down across from him. “You okay?” he asks with a joking air.

Harry shrugs, leaning back as their waiter approaches and greets them. “What can I offer you to drink? Shall I bring out the wine menu?”

Louis nudges his chin toward Harry.

“Umm…Champagne, maybe? Something a little lighter.” Harry definitely wants to get buzzed tonight, but he wants to be, you know, aware and with it as well. He still owes Louis that sober shag.

“Of course.” The waiter steps away and toward the bar.

They’re so relaxed, sitting at the table. Harry feels sleepy from the past evening and week and judging by Louis’ calm and hazy demeanor across from him, he feels the same. They’re not-so-subtly playing footsie underneath the table and laughing lightly when the waiter comes back and pours them each a flute of champagne, leaving the bottle in ice in the middle of the table before taking their orders.

Louis and Harry clink glasses as Louis says, “Gonna miss you, Haz.”

Harry tries not to whine at the sweetness in his voice as he takes a sip. The bubbles make him feel even more airy. “’S only two weeks before I see you again.” He pauses, setting his drink down. “But I’m gonna miss you, too.”

Louis nods. “Two weeks, then another two weeks. You’re…I dunno, I don’t want to get too sappy. But you’ve been a really positive force in my life this year, Harry, know that.” He links his foot around Harry’s ankle again and yanks a bit. “And I’m sorry you can’t meet my mum and sisters the way that you should. But I’m so excited for you to, regardless. I think you’ll get on with my mum really well. Fuck it, I’m being such a sap.” He sits up in his chair straighter and Harry pouts as his foot falls away.

“No, I love it.” _I love you,_ Harry thinks. “It’s gonna be great. Don’t worry.” He offers Louis a shy smile and Louis just grins wider.

He lets his eyes wander as they continue to drink and laugh and talk about the most inane, pointless, but utterly hilarious and enjoyable things. The restaurant is quite full for the hour, Harry thinks, although he realizes that many of its patrons may come this late on purpose. It works out better for Harry and Louis, for certain.

He sees a man, presumably a rich businessman, from what he can tell, seated across a girl no older than himself. He sees groups of three engaged in arguments all around. He sees two women cuddling up next to each other in a booth.

And he thinks about the previous weekend, about how sometimes public images can look so perfect and yet they’re ready to blow any second in actuality, and it’s all a bit overwhelming. At home, he’d thought of life as idealistic – not only for him and “normal” people, but even for high-profile people. What you saw was what you got, because why would anyone lie?

He laughs to himself now as he pours both he and Louis another flute of champagne. How incredibly naïve.

And yet, he thinks that he should be more bitter than he is. He isn’t, at all. He’s happy for the most part right now. He has Louis sitting across from him, waxing poetic and writing songs about how much he means to him and making efforts to preserve them as a normal couple where he can – keeping their karaoke nights sacred, arranging dinner dates – and for now, he’s content. It’s a good life, especially for a random, eighteen-year-old boy in uni.

“What’re you going to do?” Louis asks him as their meals arrive.

Harry swallows quickly. “Sorry?” He pulls himself out of his reverie.

“At home.” Louis smiles. “When you get back, what’s on your to-do list?”

“Oh. Gonna go by the bakery, I think. Is that lame? I liked it there. It’s relaxing and the ladies are nice.”

Louis giggles and his eyes crinkle at the corners again. For the first time in a while, Harry’s seeing the full sunlight of his laugh reveal itself again. “It’s not lame. If it’s fun for you, it’s fun. But _ladies_?” He waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly and suggestively.

Harry rolls his eyes. “ _Older_ ladies, Louis. Like grandmothers. I mean, that’s not all. I just want to make the time for it. ‘M gonna get my fair share of parties and nights out in, too.”

Louis nods his head as if he were pretending to believe him. “Of course. Bring Holmes Chapel right to the ground, you will.”

Harry kicks him under the table with mock-force. He knows that Louis is teasing him. “Well, what about you? Babysitting all month?”

Louis nods enthusiastically. “Naturally.” He takes a bite of his food and continues after, “In all seriousness, yes, I’m very much looking forward to seeing my sisters. I wish I was able to spend more time with them. I feel like I haven’t made as much of an effort to be close with the twins like I am with Lottie and Fizzy.”

“That’s sweet.” The idea of Louis with children makes him melt inside, to be perfectly honest. He knows how loud and brash his boyfriend can be around their friends and peers, but he imagines that so much more of this sweet side comes out around younger people, especially those he loves. “But I’m know that you’re the best brother they could ask for.”

They linger at the table after dessert and well past midnight to the point where the waiter just slides the tab onto their table without asking them if they want it. Louis reaches for it, a repeat of their first date, and Harry protests yet again.

“Yeah, but I asked you this time, too,” Louis insists.

“It’s a dignity thing,” Harry says staunchly. “Let me buy your dinner. You paid for our lunch last weekend.”

Louis stares him down for one, two minutes, still holding the folder tightly before he relents. “Thank you for dinner, Harry Styles,” he makes a point of saying.

“You’re welcome, Louis Tomlinson,” he answers as he returns the check to the waiter.

“I’ll get the cab, then,” Louis says as they step outside into the frigid December air.

Harry pulls his coat tighter. “Not walking?”

Louis shrugs and steps slightly into the street to hail a passing car down. “Too cold for that, are you crazy? And…” his voice trails off as they slip into the backseat and Louis gives the driver his address.

The sentence doesn’t need to be finished, though, because of course. Harry remembers that the first time they really went out alone in Manchester they had far fewer restrictions and he and Louis walking togother at night back to the surrounding area of the school wasn’t so big of a deal. Now, with a tighter closet and Eleanor’s presence in his life, it is. So they’re taking a cab, yes.

The ride is quick, of course, and they pull up to Louis’ building in less than five minutes. The area is empty, considering that it’s nearly one in the morning on a Thursday night, and they’re inside and in the lift quickly, so Harry isn’t too worried about being spotted. Once the lift doors close Harry presses himself against Louis in a corner and slips an arm around his waist. “Gonna do me good tonight?” he breathes into his ear. “So I feel you until I see you again?” He’s calm. He’s needy as hell, too, but he’s ready to be put to bed well and good tonight thoroughly.

Louis leans back against the lift’s wall and moans, keeping eye contact with Harry the whole time. The doors open and Harry slips out wordlessly, heading straight to the flat. He hears Louis follow behind him quickly and push in front, keying the door open.

The living area is dark and empty, and as they tiptoe over to Louis’ room Harry sees that Zayn’s door is shut. So they’ll have to try extra hard to be quiet this time.

Louis shuts the door behind them and Harry yanks off his boots and coat, tossing them against the closet, before he lays flat on Louis’ bed and exhales deeply. He feels on edge as Louis crosses over to him, shedding his own jacket and shoes before crawling over him, bracing either side of his head and lowering so their faces are lined up.

“Hi,” he whispers, nuzzling Harry’s face with his nose.

Harry breathes softly, biting his bottom lip as he takes in every detail of Louis’ face above him. The rounded curve of his eyebrows, his long, fluttery eyelashes, the gorgeous and stunning blue of his eyes. Harry swallows hard. He doesn’t know if he wants to curl up against that face until the end of time or let it tear him to bits. He lets out a strangled moan and Louis chuckles.

“What do you want to do?” he murmurs, just barely brushing his lips to Harry’s.

“Uhhhh…” Harry thinks that he’s lost the capability to form words all of a sudden. He mouths at Louis some more, imploring him to bring his lips back down.

Louis just props himself up on his forearms so they’re a bit more separated, Harry whining at the loss of contact. “No, what do you want?” He grinds down just a tad onto him and Harry thinks that that isn’t helping the matter at all.

“Want you to fuck me,” he lets out, finally finding some words.

“Yeah?” Louis maneuvers a hand to brush at the side of Harry’s face, pushing some hair behind his ears. “How?”

Harry jerks his hips up so that they brush with Louis again and he can feel that they’re both starting to harden inside of their trousers. Louis, the little shit, is getting off on dragging him out to the very edge like this. It really isn’t fair. “Like this,” he breathes. “Right on my back.”

Louis hums with a smile. “What else, Hazza?”

Harry scrunches his eyes closed and tries to think through all of the _LouisLouisLouis_ that’s resulting from him on top of him. “I wanna feel your hand on me for days.”

Louis drops his head a little, nodding into his neck as a hand trails down Harry’s side and cups the side of his arse. “Fuck yes,” he says, finally showing some signs of cracking. He squeezes and rubs at Harry’s arse until Harry is rutting up into him again, letting tiny whimpers out and craving more contact.

Louis mouths at his neck, kissing and sucking and biting down as Harry pants beneath him.

“Now,” Harry whines, trying to fit his hands beneath them to start at Louis’ top.

Louis pushes up suddenly, sitting on the bed. “Yeah, fuck it, now.” He picks up where Harry left off at the blue blouse and Harry sits up himself, getting right to work whipping his blazer off and working the shirt out of his trousers.

“I like that,” Louis says casually, as if he weren’t preparing to fuck Harry senseless. “The shirt.”

Harry smiles as he tosses it over by his coat and boots with the blazer. “You could take it, if you want,” he suggests. “Kinda tight on me anyway.”

Louis laughs and leans against the headboard, beckoning Harry onto his lap. Harry feels their chests rub together and shudders at the heat. Louis slips a hand in to pinch at one of his nipples and Harry grips at his shoulders, pulling his face together in concentration. “Sure,” Louis says, still nonchalantly. “If you insist.”

Harry nods before dropping his head between Louis’ neck and rocking his hips. Louis continues to toy with the nipple, squeezing and scratching at it ever so gently with the stubs of his nails. It’s all Harry can do to start sucking at the dip between Louis’ collarbones, kneading and slicking the area up with his lips. Louis’ own pants speed up and his hand start spreading across all of Harry’s chest and back. For how small they are, they cover a lot of skin quickly.

“Trousers,” Harry whispers into his ear.

“Uh huh,” Louis says mindlessly, nudging Harry off again and working at his own slacks. Harry gets his off in record time, possibly helped by the fact that they aren’t nearly as tight as his usual skinnies, and watches Louis as he undresses himself. They make eye contact and Harry toys with the waistband of his pants as if to ask, _This too?_

Louis reaches across to slide Harry’s pants off, the elastic brushing over his nearly hard cock in an almost painful manner. Harry groans as Louis slips the pants right off of his feet, flinging them across the room. Without thinking, Harry reaches across to return the favor, making sure to brush his hand against Louis’ cock as he does so.

“Harryyy,” Louis whines, moving back into his place against the bed and tugging Harry with him.

Harry giggles and presses his hands into Louis’ chest as he dots soft butterfly kisses around his mouth. Louis’ hands run down his spine until they reach the cleft of his arse and each splits to grasp a cheek. He kneads at him then, and Harry starts grinding against him again, their cocks rubbing together, dry, hard, and rough.

Louis puts a hand against Harry’s stomach to stop him, pushing just the slightest. “Stay still,” he orders, before returning his hand back to his arse. Harry pouts, itching to continue moving.

“Lou,” he whines, batting his eyelashes and trying to act coy.

Louis pauses for a moment as if he’s about to give in to Harry. His eyes dart around and he sucks his bottom lip into his own mouth before breathing out and saying, “Did you want me to mark you up or no?”

Harry deflates, letting his head roll up to the ceiling so he doesn’t have to look at Louis. “Yes.”

Louis clears his throat. “Right. So stay like this and you’ll get that, yeah love?”

Harry whimpers and clenches his thighs around Louis’ at the pet name. “Okay,” he gives in.

Louis squeezes at his arse again, pressing his fingers deep into the flesh of the cheeks and gripping, physically rocking Harry back and forth, just far away enough so their cocks don’t brush.

Harry’s breath hitches and he keeps his focus up at the popcorn ceiling.

“Ready, Harry?” Louis asks seriously.

Harry nods, still looking up.

“Words, please.” Inside he knows that Louis is probably putting his best effort in to keep things safe, but he can’t help but feel a twinge in his gut solely because of the way that he’s ordering him around.

“Yeah. Hit me hard,” he says bluntly. He closes his eyes and holds his breath, waiting for the sting.

All that comes is the lightest of taps, only the pressing of skin to skin. It doesn’t count as anything at all. Harry looks down at Louis, pouting. “What was that?” he spits out, annoyed.

Louis laughs loudly and Harry shoves a hand toward his mouth to shut him up.

“You’re funny to piss off,” Louis says, muffled.

“Not funny,” Harry grumbles. He removes his hand, wet from Louis’ tongue purposefully licking over it, and wipes it down Louis’ chest.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Louis whispers. “I wanna see you.”

Harry swallows and nods. “Mmhmm.”

His hands start pressing into his arse again, warming him up. Hopefully for real this time. “How many do you want?”

Harry bites his lip. “How long till I’m gonna see you again?”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis mutters darkly. His eyes grow darker and Harry can feel his cock twitch against his thigh. “Fifteen, I think.”

Harry nods solemnly. He presses a kiss to Louis’ jawline and looks up at him. “Fifteen, then, Lou.”

Louis whimpers and Harry thinks that he’s going to have to hold him back from thrusting against him for a moment before he steels himself again and holds Harry steady. Harry keeps his eyes locked with Louis’ throughout, both challenging the other behind the lust in their stares. Louis lifts his right hand and brings it down _hard_ against Harry’s bum, the noise echoing throughout the room.

Harry can’t help but close his eyes, cry out, and rock into Louis, their cocks brushing and a jolt of pleasure shooting through him. Louis grabs his hips again, bringing him back to a still position. “ _Harry_ ,” he warns.

He whimpers and pulls a frustrated face, nuzzling against Louis’ cheek. Louis just nudges him forward again and places his hands back on his arse. “Stay, okay? ‘S not gonna work otherwise.” Harry doesn’t understand this idea and thinks that it’s Louis trying to challenge him again. “Count for me, yeah?”

Harry nods. Louis doesn’t move forward, though, and he realizes that he’s waiting for him. “One,” Harry says, doing his best to keep his voice even.

“Right,” Louis whispers. He lifts his left hand up this time, and Harry squeezes tight and braces himself for the impact. Louis brings it down, and Harry is able to stay still now, although a sob still escapes him. “Two,” he wails.

Louis is breathing heavily, watching Harry closely. “That was good, Harry,” he whispers. “You’re being so good for me.”

And God, if that doesn’t send him even further off the edge. He’s being _good_ for _Louis_ , and the thought goes right to his dick.

Louis goes again and again and again. He slaps back and forth between arse cheeks, from left to right, until he occasionally mixes it up and catches Harry unexpectedly with two in a row. They go from three to seven to eleven and soon Harry is crying out, “Fourteen!” and not wanting it to end. Louis is as wrecked as he is, and both of them are struggling with such difficulty at this point to not rub their leaking cocks together.

“Good, baby,” Louis coos. “One more, then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress, okay?”

Harry had almost forgotten about what was happening after. To be honest, he was almost prepping himself to come right after Louis had finished with his smacks. He whimpers, saying, “Can’t last, Lou.”

Louis leans forward to press his mouth to Harry’s neck. “Gonna have to. Can you do that for me? Let me give you one more hard, tight smack before I flip you over and pound my cock into you?”

_How does Louis do this?_

Harry swallows and locks eyes with him again. His blue eyes are brimming, shining with arousal and heat. He nods wordlessly and Louis delivers a final smack to his arse, Harry crying out and Louis quickly brings a hand to squeeze around the base of his dick, keeping him from coming in the moment. He leans his forehead against Louis, catching his breath again, and whispers, “Fifteen.”

Louis turns his lips up to meet Harry’s and they get caught into a heated kiss, teeth clacking and panting into each other’s mouths, tongues running along lips and down throats. He feels the burn of his arse in the back of his mind but can only focus on Louis’ mouth and breath and whimpers beneath him. Louis pulls away harshly, smirking. “’S that gonna stay with you for two weeks, baby?”

Harry huffs and gently flips around onto his back, just _wanting to come already_. He winces as he feels the sting that Louis’ hands left on his bum as he settles into the sheets and holds his arms out to Louis like a needy baby. Louis giggles and rolls over onto him again, pulling a face as his hands hit the bed.

“Your arse did me in, Hazza,” he says. “Stings.”

Harry frowns. “Then how do you think I am?” He laughs and yanks Louis in for a closer kiss before he can get the wrong idea.

Louis doesn’t respond – he just continues to kiss Harry, slowly rutting against him for a bit until both of their mouths are good and swollen and they’re both dizzy from the kissing. Louis sighs loudly and sits up, reaching across Harry to grab the lube and condom sitting on his nightstand.

He scoots down and motions for Harry to spread his legs, which he does gladly. Harry debates grabbing his cock and jerking off slowly, but knows that Louis would object and swat him away with a smirk. Instead, he whines, “Lou, fuck me, I want you.”

Louis clucks and flips the lube open, drizzling the slippery liquid onto a few of his fingers. “Be patient, Hazza. Need to get you ready.”

Harry continues to protest even as Louis starts to rub around his hole with his index finger. “’M already ready. Just, please.”

Louis stares at him as if to say, _Oh really?_ as he gently presses the tip of his finger in. Harry moans, he moans loudly and Louis is forced to bring a hand up to stifle his sounds as he works in deeper.

Harry mutters incoherently as Louis’ hand presses against his mouth, working his tongue against his fingers so that he’ll be able to get a word out. Louis finally relents as he brings his hand down to brace himself while he continues to work his finger deeper, in and out of Harry. Louis is silent, but breathing heavily.

“Louis,” he mumbles. “So good. Want you – more of you. Now.” He’s completely lost the ability to form coherent sentences, with the sweet slide of Louis’ finger mixing with the sting still ever-present on the rest of his arse.

“Gonna add a second,” Louis muses, slipping his middle finger in and stretching Harry further.

He can’t even focus on the slight burn now, doesn’t register it, as his hips buck up instinctively and he feels his cock leak even more. “ _Louis_ ,” he whines again. “I wanna be loud.”

Louis laughs, but it’s strangled, almost forced, and Harry would wager anything that he’s holding back a gasp, a groan, a moan of his own. “Sorry, Hazza, gotta be quiet for the neighbors and Zayn” he murmurs, and Harry leans up to watch him. Louis’ brow is furrowed in concentration, his focus only on his fingers working in and out of Harry as he pumps, scissors, and twists around inside of him. Harry peers across and sees his cock hanging hard and heavy between his thighs and wants nothing more than to get it inside of him somehow, his mouth, his arse, anywhere.

“Want your cock,” he voices. “In me. Now.”

“Gonna give you a third,” Louis insists.

Harry lets out a grunt in protest. “No. Now.”

Louis sighs, withdrawing his fingers and laughing. How he can _laugh_ a moment like this, when they’re both halfway to wrecked, is beyond Harry. That’s Louis, though.

“You want it now, then?” he says casually, wiping his fingers on the sheets. “Want me to get myself all good and wet for you and just push on in, giving it to you like that?”

Harry nods his head as frantically as possible. That is _exactly_ what he wants, and Louis knows it.

Louis shrugs. “Okay,” he says simply. Harry watches him intently as he rips the condom packet open in one go and slides it onto his length and drizzles more lube onto his fingers before pumping himself twice over to slick up fully.

Before Harry knows it, Louis is hovering over him, propping his legs against his shoulders and adding a delicious burn to his thighs on top of what he’s feeling on his arse cheeks, lining his dick up against his hole.

“Ready, love?”

Harry babbles, trying to make sense of something, before getting out, “Yes – yes, fuck me now, ‘m ready, been ready, c’mon, please…” and _oh_. Louis presses in, sinking in slowly, and Harry feels the stretch, feels his hole sucking Louis in, enveloping him bit by bit. He moans loudly, unable to hold back, and Louis presses their mouths together so that the noises vibrate between them.

Louis comes to a rest inside of Harry and stays for a moment, breathing into Harry’s mouth and bringing his hands forward to card into his hair. He pulls up for fresh air, and Harry watches him, watches his face melt in pleasure and his fingers yank at his curls, and it takes all of his willpower not to start shouting in pleasure right that very second.

“Move, now,” he opts for instead.

And Louis does, pulling out until he’s barely inside Harry, and pushing back in with force so intense that Harry rocks up against the pillow and feels the headboard behind him.

“Lou, fuck, Lou, fuck me.”

They move together, and Harry keeps eye contact with Louis for nearly the entire time. Louis doesn’t go as nearly as rough as Harry would be ready for, but Harry detects the softness behind his eyes, realizing that he probably needs it sweet and a bit slow right now. So he wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and pulls him closer, steeling himself to whisper obscenities into his ear instead of screaming them out.

Louis responds in whimpers, his demeanor changing from the Louis that was bossing him around and smacking his arse mere minutes ago. This Louis is softer, burrowing in as close to Harry as he’s able until he can’t possibly become any more connected, giving gentle tugs at Harry’s curls and pressing kisses all over his upper body.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, hovering over his collarbone. “Harry, feels so good, you’re so tight, taking me like this.”

Harry whines, arching his back and feeling every sensation as Louis continues to slide in and out.

Louis shifts the slightest bit over to his right, dropping his mouth to Harry’s left arm, sucking into every tattoo there, licking across and whispering into it. “Love this,” he says. “Gonna mark you up even more, just like this.” He sucks right into the center of the star, his favorite spot.

Harry begins to feel the warm curl in the bottom of his stomach and knows that his climax is near. “Lou,” he warns. “Gonna come. Can’t stop it. Please, I wanna come, Lou, need it, now.”

Louis lifts up, still moving inside of him, and nods, pressing their lips together. One of his hands slips in between their torsos where Harry’s cock is rubbing up against Louis’ fit, defined abs, and grasps him tightly. He pumps in time with his thrusts, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. “Come for me, Harry, c’mon…”

Harry lasts maybe a minute longer, relishing the sensations of Louis’ hand on his cock and dick in his arse, before he comes with a cry, spurting streams of white in between their bodies and letting his loudest sob yet loose.

Louis pants, bringing his hands up to brace against the mattress, and fucks into Harry hard until he too collapses, breathless and overwhelmed with the pleasure coursing through his veins. He drops on top of him, slipping out but staying in the same position, as Harry’s legs fall to his sides. They’re both breathing heavily, still trying to right themselves after their orgasms.

“Mmmm,” is the first thing out of Harry’s mouth, a slow hum. He brings a hand up to tousle through Louis’ hair, mussing it up more than it was already and massaging into his scalp. “Real good, Lou,” is all he manages to say.

Louis laughs, pushing up and pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead before rolling off of him, knotting the condom, and tossing it into the bin. He falls onto the open pillow.

They lie for a few moments, but something feels off.

“Not right,” Harry says. He coughs, trying to bring back his ability to form sentences. “We’re on the wrong sides of the bed, Louis.”

Louis giggles yet again and gives Harry a small tap on the stomach, unwittingly getting a spot of come on his hand. “I’ll go clean up, then, roll over Hazza.”

He comes back with a wet towel to wipe Harry down, rubbing his stomach and thighs and ghosting over his spent hole gently before nudging him onto his side and patting his still-red arse as softly as he can. He throws the towel to the floor, just another thing getting lost in the piles and suitcases of items before curling into Harry.

Louis tucks him in tightly, pulling the blankets up around them. It’s late now, and Harry does have lecture before ten tomorrow, so he knows that he needs to get some sleep.

“Love this,” Louis whispers into his hair. “You make me feel so good. I want to feel like this forever.”

Harry thinks he might tear up at that, and presses a soft kiss to Louis’ mouth before settling further into the bed. After a moment passes he whispers, as quietly as possible, “Love _you_ ,” but Louis doesn’t hear him, he’s already dozing off.

That’s okay, though. Harry said it and he feels that Louis knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to give anything away, but as a bit of a hint for next time, I wrote this chapter with the phrase "last good day" in mind. (Yes, the wording is from tfios, but I obviously don't mean it like that.) So like I said in the beginning, it's fluff, but a bit ominous perhaps.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	17. And Then We'd Be Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is. Hope you enjoy!

Gemma arrives right on the dot, at seven in the evening on Friday because she’s Gemma and punctual, and as she puts it while she’s tapping her foot in his doorway, “Let’s get a move on, I want to sleep.”

Liam is still there as well, and Harry gets incredibly uncomfortable with how the two are flirting back and forth with each other. He zips up his bags quickly and passes one to Gemma to carry before giving Liam a goodbye hug.

“Can I ask for her –”

And _really_? Those are going to be his parting words to Harry, until they see one another again in Doncaster? All right, maybe he is being a bit overdramatic. But still. “My _sister_ , Liam!” he hisses before he leaves.

Gemma rolls her eyes at Harry as they walk toward the car park. “I’m a grown woman, Harry, you don’t need to step in like that.”

“My _roommate_ , Gemma!” he insists as she opens the trunk and throws his bags in rather unceremoniously.

“Your roommate is a popstar, and a quite fit one as well.”

Harry is still pulling his grumpy frog face when they sit down and strap up.

Gemma rolls her eyes as she turns the key in the ignition. “I was playing, Harry. Having fun. I’m not actually going to shag your best friend.”

“Oh thank God, because I was so worried,” he drawls sarcastically, staring out of the window as they pull out and start away from campus.

They ride in silence for a few minutes until they hit the M6, and Gemma turns to him abruptly and says, “So how’s the boyfriend?”

Harry nearly chokes on air before whipping back around to face her. “What?”

She laughs. “Oh, come on, you know I’ve heard from Mum about how you never came home as you promised. There’s a _reason_ , Harry,” she says in a singsong voice.

“And you know full well that was me grasping at straws to get her to leave that first day,” he interrupts.

“Right.” Gemma laughs again. “But obviously he’s the reason why, so, yeah? Tell me about him.”

Harry shrugs, scooting down in his seat. Gemma is an enigma, really. She actually reminds him a lot of Louis now that he’s seeing her since meeting him. He’s not sure how to feel about that. She’s snarky and sassy, fiercely protective, and well-liked by most everyone he knows. Yes. Definitely a Louis. “I’ve told you things,” he insists.

“No, but…” She sighs. “Okay, I know he’s from Doncaster, plays footie, is shorter than you, and has blue eyes. Tell me _about_ him. I like knowing about what makes you happy, Little Brother. Hey, show me a picture.”

And Harry huffs loudly, but he digs in his jeans for his phone anyway because he knows that Gemma does care. It’s a bit endearing, actually. He flips through his camera roll until he finds a picture from London, where he’d made Louis kick an invisible football in front of Wembley Stadium when they were exploring the area on Sunday. “When we went down for X Factor, for Liam,” he explains as she turns her head back and forth, multitasking on the road. “Wembley Stadium.”

She squints her eyes at the picture before shifting her focus back into driving.

Harry puts his phone away.

“That’s Louis Tomlinson.” She blurts out.

And Harry realizes that he’d never given her his last name.

“He’s your lead footie player, isn’t he, Harry?” Gemma continues talking at a fast pace, clearly getting worked up. “Harry, he has a girlfriend.”

He’d never really told his family about all of that. He figured that he would mention it in passing, at some point over break, but he hadn’t really wanted to bring it up on his cheery phone calls home.

She keeps going. “Shit – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that, I should’ve sat you down, I’m sorry Harry –”

“Gemma!” he says quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder to calm her. “D’you think that I wouldn’t know that, if you do? He’s – y’know, in the closet. He’s not actually dating her.”

She relaxes a bit but still looks worried. “Right. Of course. Just –”

“What?” Harry asks defensively.

“You were so happy,” she says softly. “Not that you aren’t happy now. I don’t know. I haven’t seen you in three months. But why would you put yourself through this?”

Harry looks down and picks at his nails. He tries to verbalize what he’s felt this term, sum it all up into something that she could maybe understand, but all he’s able to come out with is, “’Cause it’s Louis.”

“Louis? As in Louis, Manchester’s great uni footballer?”

“No!” He sits back up straighter, crossing his arms defiantly. “As in Louis, the bloke who bowled me over in the toilet with as much exuberance and friendliness as he bowled the audience over as a karaoke host. As in Louis, who laughs like the fucking sunlight. As in Louis, who cares so much about his friends and family that he brings everyone around him up to higher standards. As in Louis, who I fucking love, so you can sod right off, Gemma.”

She blinks, nodding again and switching lanes. “I’m sorry, Haz,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to come off like that.”

“Well you did,” he retorts, turning back to the window. “I’m not looking for a sugar daddy or whatever the fuck you had in mind.”

“That’s really not what I meant,” she presses. “I’m sorry. I – I just reacted, because you were always so happy, to be out and proud, that I couldn’t imagine you going back.”

“I’m still _proud_ ,” he says. “Just because I can’t walk around campus snogging him doesn’t mean I’m not proud of myself or my relationship. It’s not always easy or simple like that, you know.”

There are a few moments of silence in the car, because Gemma doesn’t know, even though she tries her best.

Finally, she breathes deeply and says, “Why didn’t you mention it?”

Harry shrugs, still facing away. “I wasn’t hiding it or anything. I just didn’t feel like bringing it up. I was going to drop something in at home, I guess.”

“Okay. If you, like, I dunno. Need summat or someone to talk to, you know I’m here, right? If you feel like bringing anything up.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Gems.” He moves in his seat so he’s facing forward again.

Harry hadn’t really expected anyone to react like that, although he’s realizing now that he shouldn’t have been surprised. Being the baby of the family, and the only man in the house for a while, Anne and Gemma had always been overly doting on Harry. It got to the point where he almost resented it, and it continued even after Robin came into the picture and treated him more as an equal right from the start. He figures that this will be the least of the reassuring he’ll have to spew out over the next few weeks.

“By the way,” Gemma comments after a few more minutes. “That little rant was what I was going for, you know, when I asked what Louis was like. It sounds like he’s a great person, Harry, I’m really glad to hear that you’re happy with someone.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah. He is.”

They come up on Holmes Chapel around eight and pull into their complex shortly after. They’re barely up the steps with their bags when the door swings open and Anne steps out. “ _Harry_!” she cries, wrapping her arms around him, locking him in as he drops his bags on the porch.

“Hi, Mum,” he mumbles into her neck.

“Hello to you too,” Gemma greets with a wink as she steps inside.

“Yeah, what about Gems?” Harry teases as he finally pulls away and picks his bags back up.

Anne ushers him inside. “Oh, stop, you two.” She steps up to Gemma and embraces her. “I’ve missed you both terribly. But Gemma was here just a few weeks ago, you know.” She looks at Harry pointedly before laughing and throwing a wink his way.

Harry shrugs with a small laugh. “Gonna put these in my room, okay?” He takes his bags and heads upstairs and a few paces before turning left into his old bedroom. It’s as he left it, except he does distinctly remember leaving the bed unmade when he stumbled awake that morning in September, and it’s pristine now. He throws his coat off and onto the bed before slipping out of his jumper, all sticky and sweaty from the car ride and day running around campus, and yanks a vest on. For good measure he slips out of his boots and squeezes out of his skinnies and pulls the first pair of joggers he comes across out of his duffel. They’re Louis’. He smiles at their length and softness. He had actually texted Louis, saying that he had a pile of his clothes that had been left in his room or nicked from his flat over the past few months, and wanted to stop by and return them, but Louis had immediately rejected the idea. Apparently you only return clothes if you’re splitting up, and not if you’re going home for a month. Harry definitely hadn’t complained.

He canters back down the steps, hungry and smelling food. His mother is cracking eggs on the stove and flipping strips of bacon.

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” she calls with her back to him.

He sits down next to Gemma at the dining counter. “No, she good and starved me on the way back.”

“Oi, I’d been driving for twice as long as you, I just wanted to be home.” Gemma gives him a soft slap on the arm.

Harry sticks his tongue out at her. “Where’s Robin?” he directs toward his mother.

“He’ll be home in a bit, he had to stay late at the office.” She fills two plates of food and turns to slide it over to them. “Hope you lot don’t mind breakfast for dinner.”

“No, it’s perfect Mum, missed your cooking.” Harry smiles at her fondly.

Anne’s eyes glint in return but then her gaze shifts and she leans across the counter to grab Harry’s left arm. “What are these, baby?”

He shifts, not understanding what she’s referencing at first, and rolls his eyes. “’M not a baby, Mum.” And then her thumb strokes over his A, and he realizes that she’s talking about all of the tattoos. “Oh. I got more.” He tries to shrug it off – he hadn’t really thought of how she’d react when she first saw them, because she was more than encouraging of his star.

She blinks, and turns to the refrigerator to pull a jug of orange juice out. “Right, of course.” She pours the glasses. “They’re very…you. Don’t – my reaction wasn’t because you have them. You just have so many more, only since September.” She pauses before tacking on “Are you okay?” in a light manner.

Harry takes the juice and downs it in one swig. “I’m fine. I just wanted ‘em, I guess, and some of my friends got a few too.” He points to the A, saying, “That’s, like, for your name, you know, Mum.”

Her eyes soften at the edges. “Oh. That’s…that’s quite nice, Harry.” She leans forward again and presses a kiss to his forehead.

Gemma whacks him again, a bit harder this time. “Gonna get one for me, then?”

“Not if you keep hitting me.” But, yes. He was planning on it. He likes the idea of a G on the shoulder opposite the A.

“Now.” Anne pulls up a stool and sits across from them. “Talk to me. How are your lives? School? Boys?”

Harry loves his mother very, very much, but he’s starting to think that he should have come home at least once or twice.

“I had a date last weekend,” Gemma scoffs. “He was a bit off, though. Not pursuing it.”

“London was quite nice,” Harry says.

“Oh, that’s right!” Anne exclaims. “Robin and I watched the finale. We looked for you in the audience but couldn’t catch you. Your friend Liam was very good, though.”

“Yeah, he was,” Harry agrees. “The show itself was a bit overwhelming. The hotel, though, that was something else. The lobby was, like, dazzling –”

Gemma snorts.

“What?”

“Only you would describe a hotel lobby as _dazzling_ , Harry,” she explains.

“Well it was. Let me finish. And the rooms were huge –” He cuts himself off this time, figuring that it’s probably better he doesn’t let his mother know he was tattooed in a hotel room. “Beds were comfortable too. Shower a bit small, though.”

“Sounds like he put you up well, then,” Anne responds. “I hope you had some time around the city. I know you love it there.”

Harry is about to respond when Gemma lets another wild laugh out and has to brace herself against the counter before calming down.

“What’d I do now?” he blurts out.

She sits back up and looks over at him. “The bed was comfortable but the shower was small? God, Harry, you’re smaller than I am, you wouldn’t be uncomfortable in the shower of a five-star hotel…” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

The _nerve_. In front of their _mother_. He gives her a grumpy push that nearly knocks her off of her stool while Anne stands up and turns to the dishes, muttering “ _Jesus Christ_ ,” under her breath.

“We all just spent our free afternoon in Hyde Park, actually,” Harry says loudly, ignoring Gemma’s teasing. “Had a picnic and played footie.”

“He’s on your uni’s team, isn’t he?” Anne asks, running the sink and setting pots and pans in it. “Louis?”

“Yeah. He’s the captain. He’s really good.”

Anne turns around and smiles at him. “Does he know what he’s doing after he graduates yet?”

Harry shrugs, stabbing a bit of egg with his fork. “He’s getting signed, that’s for sure. Don’t know where yet. I mean, like, we’re all hoping for Man United, but he hasn’t said much one way or the other yet. Can’t, really, until it’s all said and done.”

“Manchester United?” Gemma asks, gaping.

“Yep.” Harry puffs his chest out proudly.

Anne crosses back over and grabs the empty glasses, loading them into the dishwasher. “That’s really fantastic, Harry, you must be very proud of his talent. I think that’s amazing. We’ve come such a long way as a society.”

Harry bites his lip and feels Gemma’s gaze come to rest on him. He figures that it’s now or never, and should Louis actually get signed to a big-name club, his mother might mention something to someone in passing that could ruin him. “It’s, uh, not like that, Mum.”

“Sorry?”

“He’s not out. Not getting signed as a gay man.”

Her face turns in confusion and walks over to sit down again. “What do you mean, Harry?”

He shrugs, picking at what’s left of the food on his plate.

“I’m not judging you, or about to go on ranting. But if you want to talk about it I’d like to hear it.”

Gemma links her foot around his ankle underneath the counter, and while he appreciates the contact, it’s making him feel a lot more emotional than he should be about this. He came to grips with this _months_ ago.

“He just can’t? He can’t do that and have the career he needs, for himself and his family. So I decided to live with it. Because that seemed easier than not giving it a go at all. And I think that it is. As far as most of uni, and the rest of the world is concerned, he has a girlfriend and I’m just the fresher he gets on well with.” He gets up, grabbing his and Gemma’s plates, and loads them into the dishwasher. “It works.” He looks directly at his mother, whose eyes are following him. “It does, Mum, I’m so, so happy. I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

She stands up and envelops him into a hug. “I trust your judgment, baby. If you’re happy then I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks Mum.”

Robin arrives home soon and they all sit around the telly with a few beers and a movie before Harry can’t keep yawning and goes to turn in. He might’ve been dreading the break back at uni, but to completely honest, he’s quite content to be home right now. Teasing Gemma, hearing his mother laugh, and talking with Robin, it’s all something that he’s missed.

He burrows into his bed, underneath the heavy quilt, and checks his phone. It’s just past midnight, so Louis, Zayn, and Niall should still be out. They’re probably halfway to wasted now. He taps out a quick text, _How’s the night going?_ and sends it to Louis.   

He gets a response within two minutes

_Louis the Tommo_

_HaRoLd !!! how r u we mis u_

All right. Maybe more than halfway to wasted. _Miss you too. xx Just getting in bed now. I guess I don’t need to ask how you are…LOL._

_Louis the Tommo_

_the pub is LOUD and SMELLy and niall and zayn r doin body shots off their colarbons its wierd. wish i was in bed with u :( :( :(_

Well, forget what he was thinking earlier, Harry’s wishing that he was back in Manchester already. _I would pay to see that, no lie. Do me a favor, take tequila off of Niall or something and send me a pic, I need a laugh._

And he means that completely literally – he would piss his pants laughing at the thought of Niall’s face while Louis is slobbering all over him.

_Louis the Tommo_

_no. only wanna suck on ur collarbons._

Bad spelling and grammar is usually a major turn off for Harry, but he’s imagining Louis sitting off on a barstool or bench somewhere, exasperatedly watching Zayn and Niall get even more piss-drunk than he is, texting Harry, and…he feels himself starting to harden under the quilt.

_I wish you were here with me too, lying over me and licking around my skin, biting where it dips, sucking colors into my body…_

_Christ_. Louis hasn’t even responded and he feels a need to drop a hand under.

_Louis the Tommo_

_god, god harry i want that. wanna bite all the way up to ur mouth and lick inside, wanna kiss u till u moan for me_

Harry keeps his phone balanced on his chest with his left hand and drops his right to his dick, squeezing tight and pumping it slowly to full hardness. He’s just imagining Louis here, Louis straddled over him and rutting into his crotch, working his mouth all over him… _Fuck, Lou, need your mouth on my cock._

_Louis the Tommo_

_gonna suck u off long and hard next time i see u, gonna take u in all the way this time. wrap my lips around u lick around ur tip, swallow everything u give me._

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Harry’s stroking himself faster now, thumbing over his slit every time he comes up, shuddering at the way he’s squeezing tightly to try and mimic at least some of the sensations that Louis’ mouth brings him. He can barely focus on typing out a response. _Lou, Louis, can’t think, fuck, you’re so good, I’m so close._

_Louis the Tommo_

_fuck harry im so hard need to come fuck u ur getting off in bed i need to find the toilet_

Harry focuses on the first part of the message, imagining Louis’ bulge sticking out from his tight clubbing skinnies, imagining him trying desperately hard not to palm himself right then and there in front of everyone, keep his cool.

And he’s moaning, just loud enough to release some tension but quiet enough so that he won’t disturb Gemma across the hall, and he feels his orgasm course through him, emptying come in streaks under his covers and across his sheets. He lets his phone fall against his chest and rests a hand across his forehead, panting and trying to relax for a moment. He carefully reaches across to his nightstand, grabbing a tissue and cleaning up underneath before anything sets in.

He flips the quilt up and sits up straight, gripping at his pillow as he feels the dizziness rush through him. Before pulling his pants on, he grabs his phone and types out a quick message. _Hope it’s good babe. xxxxxxxx I just came so hard, thinking of your lips wrapped around my dick, made a total mess of my bed. xxxxxx_

He steps out into the hallway and heads to the bathroom quietly, wetting a towel to pat down his sheets and what little of his come is left on the quilt before it stains. He comes back to a lit up phone screen.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Shit, shit, shit, that was so good baby, felt so good, like u were almost here. Damn right sobered me up._

Harry giggles as he cleans up and throws the towel into his clothing hamper before climbing back in bed. They banter back and forth for a while longer, until Harry can barely keep his eyes open and apparently Louis hears a voice calling for him from somewhere in the pub. _Nighty-night, Loooouuuuu. xxx_

_Louis the Tommo_

_You’re a sap. I can’t wait another 14 days to see you. :( …… :)_

*

Harry absolutely intends to get up and do something on Saturday. Find a friend who’s back in town, go shopping with Gemma, stop by the bakery, _something_.

Except when he turns over and the clock by his bed is flashing two-thirty in the afternoon, he figures that he might as well stay in for the rest of the day. He helps his mother with a few things around the house, flips the telly on for a bit, and really just has a day of absolutely nothing. On top of everything, he gets a text from his best mate and near-brother Jonny saying that he’s having car problems and won’t be back until Wednesday, so there really isn’t anyone he wants to rush to see now. He’d feel guilty for being so lazy, but he just went through an entire term of non-stop action, so he lets it slide for the day.

Of course, everything is closed on Sunday, so that day is much of the same as well. At least by this point all of his friends from uni are settled back home too, so he spends most of the day on his phone bantering with all of them.

All of them except for Louis. He sends a few texts reading things like _Nice to be home? :)_ and _I miss you :’((((_ but only receives one-word responses; nothing to initiate a conversation with. He complains about it to Gemma, asking if that was weird, but she just brushes him off and mentions that he’s probably bombarded with four screaming little girls. That’s a fair point, Harry figures, so he’ll leave the ball in Louis’ hands for now.

He’s finally able to get out of bed at a decent hour on Monday, showering and clothing himself by eleven. He convinces Gemma to let him take her car – his had been sold when he went to uni – and he sets off for the bakery.

“Barbara!” he calls as he steps inside, the familiar bell ringing with the open and close of the door. “It’s Harry. Harry Styles.”

The somewhat elderly woman steps out of the back, tying her apron and mouth split into a grin. “Love! No need for a formal introduction, how could you think I don’t remember just Harry?” She beckons him over and swoops him into an embrace.

“How is everything?” he asks, pulling back and giving the old shop a once-over. It’s the same as always – homey colors of a deep red and cream, the wooden interior resembling a cottage tucked away in a forest. The furniture is as he’d remembered it, with a small seating area to the right and the counter and actual bakery to the left and behind. He can already smell the day’s goods, likely a loaf of sweet bread, wheat bread, and of course the dozens upon dozens of various biscuits. It feels like home, and it is.

“Awfully quiet and boring without you, you know.” She swats him with her tea towel and shoos him into a seat. “What possessed you to leave us here and go off to the big city? Wait here, we have a few things in the back that can’t be sold. I was hoping you’d come by today.”

She dashes behind the counter and Harry calls after, “Get in!”

He hears her laugh. “Tea, Harry?”

“Yes, please.”

She comes back in with a plate of fresh and mouth-watering but cracked and crumbled biscuits, just as Harry had always snatched them the second he got a chance, and two cups of tea, no milk.

Harry smiles warmly. This woman is like a grandmother to him. She had always refused to give him her actual age, but he knows that it’s somewhere between sixty and seventy. Her hair is a silver-grey and permed up like grandmotherly-types are wont to do, and although she has a fair amount of wrinkles it’s few enough that if he didn’t know her and had to guess her age right now he’d probably wager high fifties. “Thank you, Barbara.”

She waves him off. “Thank you for stopping by, love. Your mother mentioned that you were coming home Friday night when she was in last week, but I knew you probably slept Saturday away.”

He takes a sip of tea, blowing over it softly first. “You were correct.”

“I know I tease, but this must have been a fantastic term for you. Your mother was always raving about your friends, your marks, everything you were involved with. Tell me about it.” She puts her hand on top of his and squeezes.

“It was, yeah, busy, yeah. Had a lot of different things going on.” He snatches a biscuit and pops it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he continues. “I finally made it to the X Factor, you know.” Barbara had always been one to push him to audition and had scolded him for a week when he didn’t end up going. “My roommate, he’s Liam Payne, and he performed at the finale. Four of us went up with him to watch, it was great.”

“You’re kidding! So a weekend trip to London, then?”

And they sit there like that, chatting away. Eventually Barbara has to get up and tend to the oven and Harry, despite her insistence, dons an apron and helps behind the counter as a few customers start to trickle in. They keep talking in between the business.

At one point, when the shop empties out again, Harry’s telling her a funny story about one of their karaoke nights, and drops the term “my boyfriend,” to which she automatically pounces on.

“Harry Edward! You never mentioned a boy.” She whacks him with the tea towel again and stands impatiently.

“Didn’t I?” he mumbles, blushing slightly. “Oh. He’s a very nice person.”

He really doesn’t mind talking about Louis to Barbara – she’s probably the most harmless person out there, in terms of knowing about his relationship, as the only electronic device she owns, besides one of those flip cellular phones with giant numbers, is a small television. She also doesn’t follow football and won’t spill about his personal life to anyone but his mother. He’s just stringing her along for the laughs.

“Most people out there are ‘nice,’ Harry, tell me a bit more.”

He laughs. “I know. He plays footie for the uni and hosts our karaoke nights but refuses to sing. He’s loud, really loud. He studies drama and literature and says he’s going to be a secondary school teacher when he’s finished with football. Um…” He hesitates for a moment. “This is a bit dumb.”

“It can’t be, if it’s on your mind, dear.”

“Okay, well, I was just thinking of this, because I’m here, but he can’t bake for shit.” He claps his hand over his mouth when he realized he just cursed in front of Barbara.

She rolls her eyes next to him while rolling out a pie crust. “Continue.”

“Yeah, he can’t bake. Or cook, really. But I’d told him I worked at a bakery once, and he…he tried. Like tried to make pancakes, and it was really bad, and he didn’t even know how to whisk, but it was really, really sweet. I ended up making the pancakes in the end. But it was fun.”

She pats his shoulder. “That’s very complementary. Couples like that always work out well, one balances out the other with their quirks and little traits and all. What’s his name?”

“Louis.”

“He sounds like a Louis.”

That makes Harry puff with pride, even though he doesn’t know quite why.

“Where is he from?”

Such an interrogation from anyone else would annoy Harry and make him shut off, but he knows that Barbara is genuinely curious and that she truly cares. Again, she’s really a third grandmother to him – he’d known her since primary school when the bakery opened and she never had any children of her own.

“Doncaster.”

“Oh, will you be seeing him over break? Bring him by.”

Harry smiles bittersweet, because he wishes that he could. “I’m going there with our friends for New Year’s, apparently he and his best mate host a huge party every year.”

“Oh, but that’s weeks away.” She molds the crust into a pie tin. “Bring him over here.”

Harry pats her on the back as he crosses to grab a broom and sweep behind the counter. “I can’t do that.” If there’s one thing he’s learned this term it’s that a web of lies will only catch up to you and come crumbling down in the end, even if it seems harmless at the time. So he rips the plaster off yet again. “He’s, y’know, a footballer. Gonna get signed by a major club. You know how the world works.”

“Oh, Harry.”

Not this again. It’s cropping up again and again lately, this attitude, and quite frankly, it’s grating on him more every time. “Why is that everyone’s reaction? Gemma, Mum, you. Sorry, Barbara. I know that you care. But it doesn’t _matter_ to me right now, like that. We’re happy. It’s awful sometimes, but so is the world.” Quoting Louis himself, he adds, “It is what it is.”

“I didn’t mean to criticize you, dear. But it worries me. I know that your family was coming from the same place.”

They stop discussing the matter for a few minutes because a customer walks in – she’s a neighbor of Harry’s, so he has to put the broom down and make small talk while Barbara wraps up the order.

He bends down to pick the broom up again when the woman leaves and Barbara places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s that?”

His _left_ shoulder. “You know I have tattoos.”

“Of course, but what’s that one?”

Naturally. “It’s a coat hanger. I had it done in London.”

She looks at him with concern. “I’m thinking that you didn’t get it done all of a sudden because you liked the shape of it. You were always one for hidden meanings, Harry. Do you want to sit down again?”

He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I’m fine.”

She nods briskly and turns back to the pie. After a few minutes their conversation picks up back where it was before Louis, and all is well between the two of them. Harry briefly wonders what it says about him that one of the people he gets on the best with in Holmes Chapel is his former boss and an elderly woman. He’ll have to ask Zayn sometime. Zayn seems like he would know the answer.

The clock strikes one and she insists that he make a sandwich in the back and sit to eat.

“Is anyone coming in soon? Do you just work these morning shifts by yourself now?” he asks as he grabs a glass of water and his plate.

“Oh, Mary will be in in a few hours. It’s just for today, don’t you worry.”

A bit into his meal, the door rings open and a group of blokes his age pour in – and, wait, they’re his friends. His actual, age-appropriate friends. It’s what was left of White Eskimo, actually, those years ago, and they’re talking a mile a minute and placing a huge order of food for what sounds like a day out. He stands up and walks over to them.

“Hey.”

They all look surprised to see him, actually. “Harry!” Will greets, pulling him into a hug. “How are you?”

“Um.” He pulls away, still confused at the sudden outburst of comradery between the group. Last he had spoken to them all as a group, Haydn and Nick nearly gave each other a black eye. “’M good. Got back Friday. It’s…nice to see, y’know…” He gestures around the group awkwardly, not quite referencing the elephant in the room.

Nick slings and arm around Haydn’s shoulder. “We’re all good.”

Well, then. Harry thinks that it’s really good, right fantastic, even, that he was invited to this little reunion.

Haydn coughs. “How’s Manchester?”

He blinks and comes back to the present. “Good. Great. Wonderful, actually.” He pauses and searches his brain to remember where Haydn ended up. He thinks that he remembers him talking about how he and Gemma be together at the same uni. Yeah, it’s a safe bet. “How’s Sheffield?”

Haydn winces a bit. “Exeter, actually. And, y’know, we’ve been better, since your team slayed us earlier this year. Good football team you have there.”

Harry straightens up. Damn right they did. “Yeah, I know. I went to the game.”

“Pity I didn’t see you there.”

Harry really can’t stand this awkwardness much longer. These were three of his best friends for so long – even after their group had that falling out, he was still so close with each of the lads individually. They were the first gang of friends that he’d gotten full-on pissed with, the first he’d gotten high with, the friends who had encouraged him to date Diana, and the first people he came out to after Jonny.

And now they’re showing up somewhere they must’ve known he’d be without so much as a text message. Together, even. “Why didn’t you call me?” he blurts out. “I mean. You’re all going somewhere…”

Let it be known that Harry Styles can be straightforward when he wants to be.

Will scrunches his face up, clearly confused. “We did – I did. Well, I didn’t call, but I texted. A few times. Asking if you were back and wanted to get together sometime. You never answered.”

Harry doesn’t remember receiving any texts. “Maybe my phone was screwing up.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Did you want to come with now?”

He can’t really say yes at this point, and he knows that they know that as well. Not after he’s went and made everything awkward and been unnecessarily hostile – not to mention how pathetic it would look if he dropped the plans that he should have right now to go off and get pissed with them somewhere. He realizes how pathetic he looks, spending one of his first days on break at a bakery. “Sorry, I can’t now.”

Barbara cuts in to hand them the food and take the payment.

“Right. It was nice seeing you, Harry. Maybe sometime before we go back?” Nick and Haydn echo similar sentiments.

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, maybe. Going up to a friend’s in Doncaster for New Year’s, so I’ll be a bit busy. See you around.”

They leave, and he wanders back to the table once they’re out of sight. He’s picking at his food when Barbara pulls a chair up next to him. “What was that about? They were always nice boys.”

Harry shrugs, trying to look like he doesn’t care. “They said they texted me. I never got any messages.”

“Maybe you should check. Technology is always messing with lives these days.”

He laughs at that, and pulls his phone out to appease her. He slides through his messages, passing Niall and Liam and Gemma and Jonny and Zayn and Louis and Will – _Oh_. Oh. He opens the conversation and finds three texts, the first sent since last July. _Hey, I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but the lads are back together, all good again, and we want to hang out sometime this week. You back yet?_ and _If you’re in Holmes Chapel we’re going to find a place to get pissed on Monday, let me know if I should pick you up_ , and lastly, _Guess you’re not in town. We’re here all break if you want to get together._

Fucking shit, Harry feels like the world’s biggest arsehole. The first message was sent his first night home when he was going back and forth with Louis. The other two were right smack in the middle of lengthy conversations with Niall or Liam. He guesses that they got lost in the shuffle. Still, he’s an arse, especially because of the conclusions that he immediately jumped to when he saw the boys.

He feels like it would almost be worse to contact Will later and apologize. _Hey, sorry mate, I never checked your messages because I was busy sexting my boyfriend and chatting with my brand new, city-weathered uni friends. Another time?_

No. That won’t work.

“Um, yeah, technology fail,” he cops out to Barbara.

She smiles and gets up. “Best case scenario, then, just let him know what happened and make plans for another time.”

“Right, I’ll do that,” he lies.

Harry leaves the shop a while later and starts Gemma’s car up. He was going to drive around town a bit, but it’s raining now and utterly freezing out. He takes the long route home anyway, and things look different.

Or maybe he is. He knows that what happened in the shop today, with both Barbara and the lads, is just the most recent of problems. It was a great term. He learned a lot and loved a lot and wouldn’t change anything for the world.

But he thinks that he lost “I’m Harry, I’m eighteen, and I’m from Holmes Chapel,” somewhere along the way, too. He doesn’t know what to do about that, though, because objectively, nothing is broken.

*

He ends up finding a party to go to on Monday night with a few less-close, but still friends nonetheless. It’s a good time, food, drink, and puns, and at least now he doesn’t feel like so much of a liar to Will and the others that he had something else planned.

His hangover on Tuesday doesn’t feel the same way, though, and he wallows in bed before getting up to down water, pills, and greasy breakfast food. No one is home, and Jonny still isn’t back in town, so he ducks out with Gemma’s car – a friend must have picked her up or something – and goes for that drive he’d meant to go on yesterday.

Holmes Chapel isn’t a very exciting or big place. It’s mostly full of middle-class and upper-class residents who golf and work and do other random things that people like them do. Given how close it is to Manchester, there isn’t a real need for much in the way of shops and attractions. So now that Harry’s hit up the bakery, he only really has one other place to stop by – school.

He has – had – an odd relationship with the place. He always fit in socially but never hit the books much until Sixth Form. He had actually been reconsidering the uni path up until then, where he found some new teachers who became very meaningful fixtures in his life, and subjects that he actually enjoyed and wasn’t just forced to study. The whole campus was really a second home, actually, and unlike his friends did, he never resented that.

The gates are open, and so he pulls in and parks off to the side. Luckily the rain let up sometime last night and hasn’t returned, so the ground is only a little wet. He climbs the front steps but of course the door is locked – oh well, that still leaves the whole back field and football pitch to stomp around.

Maybe he should feel weird about coming back here. But it’s one of those sentimental, meaningful, _important_ things that he feels needs to be done. Places are important to Harry, both new and old. So if fifteen minutes walking around the place he spent almost as much time as he did at home for most of his teenage years makes him a sap, then so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time someone called him that.

He rounds the corner of the last building and comes face to face with the football pitch. He’s reminded of Louis of course, he always is when he’s confronted with football nowadays. He tries to think about what Louis’ school in Doncaster looks like. Maybe he’ll get to see it next week. He tries to imagine Louis, who kicks the ball around and scores goals in arenas now, struggling to get the hang of the game on a tiny school field. He wonders if it looks like this one does.

Harry had never been around this area much, as sports were never his thing, so it is a bit strange that this is where he settles. He just walks to the middle of the pitch, tests the ground with the heels of his boots, and finds that the dampness is quite tolerable. So of course he lies flat on his back and just spreads his limbs out, looking at the cloudy sky.

_Why the hell is he lying on a football pitch in Holmes Chapel in the middle of December?_

He wouldn’t have done this back in June. Hell, he wouldn’t have done it in September.

And perhaps this isn’t a big deal. Harry just needed to get out of the house again and found himself on a football pitch.

But maybe he’s trying to reconcile the two selves that he feels are emerging. Maybe it’s that Harry is changing, he’s growing up, and that’s scary as all hell to him. His values are changing. He didn’t make the same decisions in Manchester that he had in Holmes Chapel in the past. Quite the opposite, actually.

And what for? Well, a lot of times, for the hell of it, and he guesses that that’s more to do with transitioning from home life to uni life more than anything. Like the impromptu tattoos, which he doesn’t regret at all, but compared to the six months he spent deciding on the width of a fucking _star_ , yeah, they’re a bit odd. (He still loves them.) Then there were instances like Louis, where he decided on a whim to fucking closet himself because an exuberant, beautiful, loud, catchy, kind, breathtaking third-year footie player went and asked him out.

He doesn’t regret that either, because having Louis in his life like he is brings him so much happiness. But it would be a lie to say that he doesn’t get incredibly frustrated with the situation at times.

Harry flips his head and sees a bag of footballs lying under the bleachers. He figures that whatever Year 10 kid left them there will get chewed out when the term starts up again. In the meantime, though, he does the thing that Louis taught him – kick a football around when you’re pissed off at the world. He heaves the mesh bag on his shoulder and dumps it in the middle of the pitch. He gives one a kick, and it hits the goal post straight on, flying and rolling back to him. One less he’ll have to clean up.

He kicks like that, one after the other, and running around to fetch them when they start to scatter too much. And he thinks how fucking ironic it is, that the one thing that’s giving him, giving _them_ , all of this grief – football – is what he’s using to try and relieve some of the stress.

It’s like he’s playing with the devil. Or fighting with it, if you will.

So he gives the ball he was rolling his foot over a final kick into the net and sits flat on his arse, still on the cold, hard ground.

He wants to talk to Louis. Football without Louis isn’t natural for him and it isn’t right at all. He hasn’t talked to him since those short, quippy messages on Saturday, and he’d meant to leave the next contact in his hands, but he really can’t handle it anymore. He doesn’t think that it’s clingy to just give your boyfriend a ring when you haven’t and won’t be seeing him for a bit.

So he calls him, and Louis picks up on the fifth ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Lou.”

“Harry, hi, hold on one second, if you can.”

He nods without realizing that Louis can’t see him.

“Sorry, I was in the living room.”

“Okay.”

“How are you?”

Harry thinks for a minute, trying to figure out how to answer the question. “My arse is cold.” It’s true.

Louis laughs, Harry can tell that he right lights up, on the other end. “Wish I could help you with that.”

“Me too.”

“Hey, are you all right?” His voice drops a bit and Harry has to turn the volume up on his end. “I mean, feel free to call me. I don’t mean that. But you sound kind of off? And it’s a bit random?”

Leave it to Louis to see – hear – right through him. “I feel weird.”

“Why?”

“Because things are different now. Like, I feel different from when I was last here. I think I was gone for too long or summat. And like I’m questioning myself with so much shit right now.” He stretches his legs out and lies back down because his head is starting to hurt.

He hears Louis breathe a sigh of relief and wonders why the hell he’s doing that. “Harry, it was like that for me too. Y’know, things change when you leave home. You start growing up and shit, believe it or not, and yeah, it’s scary, but it’s bound to happen. I mean, I don’t know what exactly is bothering you yet, but I was unsure about a lot of stuff when I showed up in Manchester. Theatre. Football. Other things. But it sorted itself out after a bit. And yeah, I was a different person when I came back home. That isn’t a bad thing.”

Harry nods, but catches himself this time. “That makes a lot of sense, Louis. Thanks.”

“So what’s wrong? I can’t be –” He drops his voice again. “Can’t talk totally, y’know, free, but. Tell me.”

Harry laughs, but his is significantly emptier than Louis’ was. “I’m lying on my back in the middle of a fucking football field.”

Louis doesn’t answer him for a moment. “That doesn’t really give me all that much to go off of, mate. Except that yes, you definitely have a cold arse, and probably a cold back and legs and head, so I think you should stand up. Please stand up.”

Harry laughs again and it’s a little fuller now. “No. It’s nicer down here. Everything squeezes you more when you’re standing.”

“Are you okay, Harry? Are you even sober? Do you need me to call your sister or mother or something? Give me their numbers.” Louis sounds genuinely worried now and Harry feels bad.

“No, wait, I don’t mean it like that. I’m just really overwhelmed.”

“Okay, about what?”

“I just wanted to talk to you, all right? Sorry if this sounds dumb but you were pretty short with me the last time I texted. And, like, things are weird here, because everyone thinks I’m being blinded or summat for doing what I’m doing, and they’re all looking at me funny and asking if I’m okay and squeezing my hand, and I fucking blew off my friends on accident because I didn’t check my messages and then I was a jerk to them when I saw them. I don’t know what to think anymore, which is why I’m kicking balls around at my old school and then they were making me angry, because they’re the source of our fucking problems when it comes down to it, and then I got overwhelmed, so I lied down and called you, and I don’t know what to think about anything right now.” He stops before he goes on further and starts really rambling and takes a few deep breaths.

“Harry –” Louis’ voice comes out strangled, and he pauses. The phone is muffled all of a sudden, and he hears his voice shout off somewhere. “Bugger off, Lottie, I’m on a call…No, not right now, give me a bit…Lottie, leave me the hell alone, I swear, if I have to go to Mum again…” Another pause, then, “Harry, I’m –”

He can’t take this anymore. “I love you.”

Louis’ response is as quick and decisive as the last one was drawn out. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to call you back in ten minutes.” And the phone beeps as Louis hangs up on him.

And that wasn’t at all what Harry was expecting. Maybe, he doesn’t know, an “I love you, too,” in response? Or even just a calm and caring reassurance, because if Louis wasn’t ready to say those words yet then of course Harry wouldn’t pressure him. But he doesn’t think it’s too needy to ask for your boyfriend not to hang up on you after you confess your love for him.

He’s kind of in shock, but Louis did say he was going to call him back, so he waits. He gets colder, but Louis said not to go anywhere, so he stays on the ground. That doesn’t make too much sense, but he thinks that whatever moment they having going on right now would be broken if he stood up.

His phone rings in seven minutes, and he answers.

“I love you. I love you, I love you, Harry Styles, I fucking love you.” Louis’ voice comes pouring through the phone, and his breathing sounds worked up and emotional.

Harry lets a shaky sigh of relief go that he didn’t know that he was holding.

“I’m sorry,” Louis continues, “That I just hung up on you and left, but my fucking sisters were being arseholes and trying to get up in my way, and I didn’t want to half-arse it, I wanted to speak freely, you deserved that, you deserve everything, and I didn’t want to text you either.”

Harry’s starting to tear up a bit. “Okay,” he croaks. “I love you.”

Louis laughs. “I think you might have said that in bed last week. I don’t know. I was very nearly asleep, I might’ve been dreaming it again.”

Louis dreams about Harry telling him he loves him. Harry thinks that he’s going to float away. “You weren’t dreaming. I thought you were out like a light.”

“No, then.” Louis giggles. Harry feels warmer just from feeling it. “I love you.”

And finally, Harry smiles. Maybe it’s corny, the back and forth they have going on right now, just repeating the phrase back and forth again and again, now that they’ve finally out and said it, but he thinks that if anyone deserves to have a few moments of corniness right now, it’s them.

They have a few moments of silence, just breathing in and out of the phone, before anyone says anything again.

Louis breaks it. “Harry – I don’t, I don’t know what to say about everything you laid out before. I can say that I didn’t mean to blow you off, and I’m so, so sorry that it came across like that. Things are weird here right now, and I guess I was trying to keep things separate. I mean, I’m happy to be talking to you right now. So happy. I miss you. But I can’t do this, I can’t drive off to talk to you every day, and I can’t, like have you constantly at my fingertips on my phone either. For my sake, not because of you, or anything. Because when it’s just texting, it feels like I’m hiding from myself, even, and I don’t like that. I’m so looking forward to you coming next week. I want you to be here, where I can see you. And I didn’t mean for it to be like this, because I absolutely would have told you. That was my mistake. I’m sorry.”

Harry swallows tightly. “I get that, Lou, I do. Thanks. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Can we talk about the rest when you get here?” Louis pleads. “I know what you’re saying. But give me a few days to think on it. I don’t know what to say. I’m freefalling just like you are right now.”

Harry doesn’t know what that means but he’ll let it slide for the time being. “Right. Okay.” He stops, then starts again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They banter and make small talk for a few minutes before Harry wraps it up because he doesn’t see the point anymore. “My bum is numb, I think. And I have Gemma’s car, without asking her. I should go.” He stands up gingerly, starting to kick the balls slowly back into the bag.

“I should get going, too. Mum needs help with a meal.”

“Have fun,” Harry offers as he leans down to grab the bag and drag it back toward the bleachers.

Louis snorts derisively. “We’ll see about that. Probably not.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Harry isn’t sure what else to say to that.

“I’ll see you next week. How are you getting here?”

Harry starts back toward the front of the school and his car. “Niall’s flying into Manchester from Dublin. He’s coming to pick me up before we head over to you.”

“Great. That’s perfect.”

“Okay.” Harry starts the car and realizes how cold he really is.

“Love you. See you soon.” He hears Louis’ car start up too.

“Love you.”

And they hang up.

The next six days pass without much drama. Jonny comes back, and they’re hanging off of each other’s backs for the time, watching movies at each other’s houses, having sleepovers like they’re twelve years old again, going drinking and mixing in with their various other friend groups, and smoking joints and cigarettes in secluded fields. Harry feels like he’s back in secondary school, and he’s starting to feel a little better, like his old self and uni self are starting to merge a bit. More secure, at least.

He hasn’t talked to Louis since that day on the pitch, mostly because he’s giving him the space he asked for. He can’t lie, it pisses him off a bit, but then again he isn’t the one closeted to his entire family. He doesn’t feel like he’s in a place to judge.

But Christmas Eve rolls around, and it’s Louis’ birthday, too. Harry had just been to the nearest mall and had picked out his birthday gift – literally, a bag full of beanies, because God knows he’s always losing them. And his Christmas gift is a pair of TOMS, because he needs to broaden his shoe collection a bit. Harry will give them to him in Doncaster, of course, but he figures that he should call him, at least. He thinks that he would be a bad friend, let alone boyfriend, if he didn’t call him. Jonny agrees.

So when he’s changing upstairs for his family’s traditionally late Christmas dinner, he gives him a quick ring.

Louis picks up on the third tone. “Hi!” he chirps.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Looouuueeehhhhh, happy birthday to you!” Harry sings loudly and obnoxiously into the phone, a grin split across his face.

Louis laughs softly. “Thanks, Harry. Happy Christmas Eve to you. Listen, I’d like to talk, but I have to –”

Louis is interrupted by another voice on his end yelling through and reaching Harry. “Eleanor, love! When you come down, your spot is by Louis’, we’re going to blow out the candles before setting the rest of dessert out.”

And Harry can’t really breathe, because he isn’t sure what’s happening.

That must have been Louis’ mum in the background.

She was calling for Eleanor.

Eleanor is going to sit by Louis.

They’re about to have cake and dessert.

Eleanor is at Louis’ birthday dinner…In his house…With his family…And it sounds like she’s completely friendly with them.

Louis starts talking again, trying to excuse himself for dessert, but Harry still doesn’t understand, so he cuts in.

“Why is Eleanor there already?”

Louis’ breath hitches loudly and Harry hears the moving of feet before he speaks again, in a whisper this time. “Harry…you know, you do know that I’m not out to my family. And that I publicly have a girlfriend. So if you put two and two together…”

And now Harry feels stupid, because of course. He had interpreted “Eleanor is coming as well” to mean “Eleanor has to show up at the party so everyone knows that she exists.” Not “Eleanor is coming home with me and living with me for a bit as my actual, real live girlfriend that my mother is going to dote over.” It’s just the way it is. She, who doesn’t even know or care for or love Louis, gets to spend his birthday and Christmas with him, just because she fits what the world wants to see, while Harry’s stuck here, alone. Nothing to take the wrong way there _at all._

Clearly, he had been very far off of the point. “Of course. Sorry, Louis, that was dumb of me…”

Louis sighs again and Harry hears a banging in the background. “I’m – I’m a dunce, I should have explained it more, and now – ”

His mother’s voice rings in the back again. “Louis, we’re all waiting!”

“And now I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Right. Happy birthday, Louis.”

“Thanks.” He hangs up.

Without missing a beat, Harry throws his phone across the room and watches it slide down the wall. He doesn’t know if it’s cracked. He doesn’t care. That three-minute conversation just destroyed a week’s worth of emotional healing, or situation management, or whatever the hell Jonny had dubbed what their late-night, drunken conversations were. Harry has to go downstairs now, to his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, and sister, and pretend that he doesn’t just feel like a piano fell on him. (It shouldn’t even bother him like this, he thinks. Of course. It’s logical. It just hit him like a fucking train.)

There’s a knock on his door. “Harry?” Gemma’s voice calls from the other side. “Are you okay? We’re nearly ready.”

He rubs at his eyes, wiping away tears that he didn’t know had formed. He pops in the mirror to right his tie and goes to open the door, hands only shaking a little.

“What’s wrong” Gemma’s face goes white when she sees him.

Apparently he looks worse than he feels.

“Nothing. It’s just…” He brushes past her and starts down the stairs, his sister hot on his heels. “I feel like…I’m getting rejected on Christmas Eve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ makesmewannatsss.tumblr.com ~


	18. Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how this chapter ended up this length...I looked at my summary and thought 'How am I going to make this a decent length?' and ended up spitting this out. The Tomlinsons really are a blast to write, though, so I guess that's it. ^_^
> 
> (Also, thanks for all the comments on the previous chapter! I did notice that it seemed some people didn't realize that Harry was aware Louis' still in the closet to his family, so hopefully this chapter makes that a bit clearer. Louis didn't outright lie to him in the previous one.)

It doesn’t occur to Harry not to go to Doncaster until Gemma and Jonny urge him to at least reconsider over the next few days.

“It was just a miscommunication,” he insists to each of them in turn. “It pissed me off in the moment, yeah, but he had told me she was coming and I knew that he’s closeted to his family. I’ll figure it out.”

That wasn’t the point, they claim. Apparently, it doesn’t matter what Louis’ intentions were, but that Harry isn’t obligated to go stay in a house with his boyfriend’s beard under all of those pretenses, and given his headspace lately, it might be a bad idea.

“Fine, then I’ll just text him then and ask him to lay out all of the cards for the trip right now. So there’re no more surprises,” he compromises. He knows that Louis asked him not to text, but his sister and best friend insist that this is well within his rights.

So he sends Louis the message (on his slightly-cracked phone), _I’m sorry for texting. I’m just wondering how things are going to be when I’m there. Like sleeping arrangements and stuff. Interaction. I’d rather not have any more surprises. I’m not mad. I love you. xxx_

He gets a response within a few hours.

_Louis the Tommo_

_It’s okay, thanks for asking. Eleanor is in the guest room upstairs, closest to my sisters’ rooms. You and Niall are staying here, in the den downstairs. We have a sofa bed and then one that’s plenty big enough to sleep on. Putting Zayn and Liam up at Stan’s. Otherwise, I’m going to do my best to treat you like my best friend. Which you are. :) Is there any other confusion? Don’t worry…I’m going to find a way for us to do something, have me take you around, just you and I. xxxxx Love you Hazza._

And Harry thinks that’s reasonable. It makes him feel better. He feels good for asking the question, and he’s happy that Louis responded.

When he relays the message to her, though, Gemma still sighs and starts busying herself with moving things around on the coffee table that don’t need to be moved. “If that’s within your boundaries, okay. Just…remember that Doncaster and Sheffield are only half an hour apart. I’ll be back up there soon after you are. Give me a ring if you need something, anything, to come home, stay with me, whatever.”

He assures her that that won’t be an issue, but he appreciates her caring and concern anyway.

He’s bursting at the seams by the time the twenty-eighth rolls around and he’s pacing back and forth in the living room with his bags packed, waiting for Niall. It’ll be better when he’s there. Yeah, there will still be an act at play, but at least he’ll be present and won’t feel like anything’s going on his back anymore. It’ll be out in the open. He’ll be able to sneak off with Louis every now and then. And the five of them will be together again, which seems so, so important right now, because he knows that Zayn, Liam, and Niall always do their best to deflect any drama that’s impending off of Harry and Louis’ shoulders.

So when Niall pulls up in his car at half six in the evening and his mother insists that he has to invite him in, he’s as impatient as ever – even more so when Niall takes her up on her offer for dinner and Harry knows that they’ll be stuck there for a while longer.

“Thanks, Ms. Styles, you don’t have to,” Niall says delightedly as he takes a seat at the table and Harry gets beckoned behind the counter to help his mother put a few plates together.

“Call me Anne, love. And it’s no problem, you must be exhausted from your flight and the drive here. Thank you so much for coming out of your way to pick Harry up, too.”

“Mum,” Harry hisses, taking the glasses of water she’s holding out and walking back to the table to sit by Niall.

Niall just laughs. “Yeah, ‘m pretty tired, but it’s nothing.” He gives Harry a friendly punch in the arms and Harry pouts. “Harry’d do the same. And he’d kill me if I got to Doncaster before him.”

Harry leans in to whisper to Niall. “Hurry up. It’s going to be past nine by the time we get there now.”

And sure enough, Niall and Harry are still at the Styles’ residence an hour after he arrived. They eventually get out the door, bags and a waving Anne in tow, and Niall tosses Harry the keys. “You take this. I need to rest a bit.”

He slips into the driver’s seat and tosses his duffel into the back of the car. “Get your phone out and on Maps, please,” he mumbles as he starts the car and gives a final wave to his mother before pulling out onto the road.

They drive in silence for a few minutes while Niall fumbles around with plugging Louis’ address into his phone, all of the obligatory “How were the holidays?” small talk out of the way from dinnertime. Eventually, Niall slips his phone, set up and spewing directions, into the cup holder beside them and asks, “So you good with all of this?”

Harry furrows his brow as he gets onto the M6, dodging rush hour traffic. “All of what?”

“You know, her. I heard she’s been at his house for a while. And that you found out in a pretty shitty way.”

Harry flips his face to look at Niall quickly, confusion and annoyance coursing through him. “How the hell did you hear that?”

Niall shrugs and kicks his trainers off. “Louis told Zayn, I guess, and Zayn told Liam, and Liam told me. No secrets, mate.”

Harry grumbles a few phrases under his breath about things like “best mates shouldn’t go spilling secrets” and “things told under confidence,” and “fucking rumor chains,” before settling on an ‘official’ answer and simply saying, “’M fine. It wasn’t all his fault. We talked it out.” Or, you know, texted, but that doesn’t really matter.

“Okay. If you say so. I just got worried for you. I know you don’t exactly like being around her.”

“Right, and I shouldn’t have to, but that’s beside the point, Niall,” Harry snaps. “It’ll be fine. What the fuck else was he supposed to do? And we’ll be at the house too, he said you and I are staying in the den. I’m just happy to go, do you not realize that I see things like this trip as a privilege?”

Niall falls silent for a moment. “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Yeah, well. I get to go stay at his house and meet his family and see where he lives and go to his biggest party of the year, that kind of outweighs being uncomfortable around his beard. I’ll deal. I’m a big boy.”

“You’re right. I won’t say anything about it again.”

That’s the first time someone has actually, verbally promised to drop the matter, and Harry is so, so grateful for it. He reaches a hand across and gives Niall a squeeze on the shoulder. They’re good.

The rest of the drive passes in comfort, and about twenty minutes out Niall dozes off. They pull into Louis’ driveway and Harry just wants to leave him, run up to the door, but he figures that would be in bad form to everyone. So he pokes and prods at his friend until he grumpily blinks his eyes open, cursing loudly and jumping up so quickly that he knocks his head on the top of the car.

“We’re heeeeerreeee, come on, Niall,” Harry hisses before he reaches back for his bag and gets out of the car. Niall follows reluctantly.

“Wha’ time issit?” he drawls, grabbing his own duffel and shuffling toward the door.

“It’s only twenty past nine, so drop the act and wake up, mate,” Harry responds as he rings the doorbell.

He hears squeals and giggles from inside and Louis saying loudly, “Stop it, Daisy and Phoebs, you’re going to scare them away.”

The door swings open, and there stands Louis, looking well-rested, relaxed, and utterly gorgeous, dressed in a pair of navy joggers and a cream-colored jumper. His hair is sticking up every which way, his fringe pushed out of his face. It’s been far too long since Harry’ saw that face.

“Hi!” he greets loudly, not hesitating to pull Harry into a tight hug, making him drop his bag and hug him right back. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in, smelling his scent from the crook of his neck. “Harry,” he says as he pulls away far too quickly, turning to Niall. “Hug me, you idiot,” he hisses into Niall’s ear as he yanks him in as well.

Louis gestures them into the house and calls out, “Zayn and Liam, the lads are here.” He turns back to them. “You’re a little later than we were expecting. The ride good?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Mum insisted that we feed Niall after his day of travel.”

“ _That_ explains it,” Louis retorts, and Harry is so, so happy to be bantering with him again. Louis nods for them to follow him down the hallway. “The girls are dying to meet you two. They haven’t left Zayn and Liam alone since they arrived this afternoon.”

“Really?” Niall asks.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like they think their big brother’s friends are cool or summat. _No clue_ where they get that idea from.”

“Heeyyyy,” Harry drawls, swatting Louis on the shoulder as they enter what seems to be the living room.

“Okay, you, you’re cool,” Louis says with a dazzling smile.

Harry grins. He looks around the room and sees Liam sitting with the twins, clearly trying to humor them with their stories but looking a bit lost, Zayn next to him laughing his arse off, the two teenage girls sprawled out on a couch and on their phones, and Eleanor in a recliner in the corner with her computer in her lap. The television is blaring out some cartoon.

“Mum’s out with Dan,” Louis explains, leaning against the back of the couch his sisters are on.

Zayn looks up and sees them, waving and pointing at Liam with a shit-eating grin on his face. Harry smirks. “Hi lads,” he says. He hesitates before remembering who else is in the room and adds, “Hi Eleanor.”

She looks up from the screen and offers a small smile. “Hi Harry, Niall. Had a good drive?”

“Yep,” Niall butts in quickly. “Harry took the road from Holmes Chapel to here, gave me a break.”

She smiles and goes back to whatever she’s doing on the laptop.

“Okay, well, these two kids down here are Lottie and Felicité. And this is Niall and Harry,” Louis claps a hand on hand on Harry’s back as he introduces them.

“Call me Fizzy, everyone does,” the younger one pipes up with a toothy grin.

“Nice to meet you, Fizzy,” Harry says, leaning over the couch to shake her hand.

Louis beams.

Harry does the same for Lottie and she flashes him a grin too, giggling a little as he pulls back.

Louis crosses over to the other sofa and crouches in front of the twins and Liam. “Hey, hey, hey, my other friends are here now, too,” he teases, tweaking their noses.

Harry thinks that he’s going to melt into a puddle of fluffy mush at the sight of Louis with children.

The girls laugh brightly and clamber off of Liam, brushing past Louis and up to Harry and Niall, staring up at them wide-eyed.

One of them points up at Harry. “You’re the curly one, I think, that’s what Louis called you.”

Harry crouches down to her level and smiles. “I think I am too, but feel for yourself.”

She tentatively reaches her and forward to brush against his hair and laughs some more. “Soft.”

The other twin butts her hand in, shouting, “Me too!”

Harry brings his head back up. “My name is actually Harry, though, what are yours?”

The first girl puts her hand across her chest and declares, “I’m Daisy. Also I’m nine.”

Harry nods solemnly. “Good to know.”

“Phoebe!” The other one squeals. “And I’m nine too, but twelve minutes older than her.”

Harry nods again. “I have a sister who’s two years older than me and she won’t let me forget it, either.”

He stands up, still smiling. These kids are so cute. He knows why Louis looks so rejuvenated after going from being surrounded by so much crap and stress for the past few months to spending time with them. He also thinks that being the actual embodiment of the sun must run in the family after being face-to-face with their little grins.

Niall shoots Harry a glare for a second before leaning down to shake their hands as well. They start cooing about his two hair colors and Irish accent but Harry doesn’t pay much attention, to be honest. He just made eye contact with Louis who’s still beaming over at him.

“Um, Harry,” he says abruptly. “I have that book you lent me upstairs. Come up with me, I’ll give it back to you.”

“Huh?” Niall asks, but Harry just knees him in the back as he follows Louis. There’s obviously no book.

They cross the room and climb up the stairs, and Harry falls behind Louis as he turns left and goes to the end of the hall before ducking into the last room. It isn’t very big, but it looks lived-in, warm, inviting, and very much Louis. It’s different from his bedroom at the flat in that it’s clearly his childhood room, with band and football posters still decorating the walls and a pale blue trim along the baseboards, along with a blue quilt similar to Harry’s instead of the black comforter in Manchester.

Louis ushers him inside and closes and locks the door. “No one’ll come up anyway, they’re too distracted with the telly and everyone else.”

Harry nods, unsure of what to do with his body. He’s still smiling, though, and blurts out, “It’s really nice to see you.”

Louis just launches himself from the door and pushes Harry flat onto the bed, bracing himself above him with his hands on the mattress. “You too.” He drops his head and kisses him hard.

“That was fast,” Harry murmurs as Louis pulls away.

“Mmhmm.” Louis drops his head into Harry’s neck, nudging at his hair with his nose. “I couldn’t help myself. I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Harry breathes as Louis starts pressing light kisses to his neck, although with a significantly less amount of force than usual. He won’t be marked up tonight.

“Also,” Louis says between pecs. “I believe that I promised you something two weeks ago to the day. So it’s really just my obligation to fulfill that as soon as I possibly can.” He sits up abruptly and wiggles down to kneel between Harry’s knees. _Of course_. The blowjob from the text messages.

Louis gets to work at Harry’s jeans right away, but Harry drops a hand and rests it on top of his. “Wait, though, is this okay?”

Louis looks at him with a dare in his eyes. “If you’re quiet, it is.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to remain calm. “But someone could come up at any second, they’ll question why the door’s locked –”

Louis shrugs and brushes Harry’s hand aside. “I lock my door all the time. You have to, in this house, to get any damn privacy. And Zayn’ll find a way to keep them down this once, they’ve met him a bunch of times and like him.” He presses a finger to his lips and hushes. “So if you keep quiet, we’ll be fine.”

Harry rolls his lips inward and nods. Louis unbuttons his jeans, shoving both them and his pants to his ankles, and straddles across his knees.

“Fuck,” Louis whispers as he takes Harry’s cock in his hand and starts stroking it, running his free hand under his shirt and up his chest. He settles on his right nipple, rolling his index finger and thumb around it and pinching it lightly. “I missed this.”

Harry bites the back of his hand, feeling his cock harden around Louis’ hand.

A few minutes full of strokes and nipple-pinches later and Harry is fully hard as Louis leans down to wrap his lips against the tip of his dick. Harry thinks that this is the quietest they have ever been. Louis sinks his mouth lower and lower until he’s past halfway down and he sucks, hard, and Harry can just imagine his cheeks hollowing out and lips puckering, and he wishes that he could actually see. They’ll have to find a mirror or something when they get back to Manchester for this very purpose.

He can’t help but thrust his hips up lightly, having no vocal outlet with which to express his pleasure. Louis moans ever-so-softly around his dick, gripping Harry’s hips and squeezing so tight that there will definitely be a few bruises _there_.

Louis pops off and Harry peers down his stomach to see the trail of spit linking his dick to Louis’ mouth. He bites his lip hard, still yearning to moan. Louis just waggles his eyebrows and dips back down, rolling his mouth over the tip and running his tongue along the slit. He takes Harry in again, sinking lower and lower until he’s deepthroating him, his nose nuzzling at Harry’s pubic bone.

He stays there for a while, and Harry can feel himself brush against the back of his throat, and _God_ , it’s just amazing after two weeks of absolutely nothing. He knows that he isn’t going to last much longer. He keeps biting at his hand, he feels the sweat bead at his temples and hairline, and feels the familiar warm sensation curl at the pit of his stomach.

“Lou…” he whispers. “Can’t take this.”

Louis finally pulls back, sputtering and heaving. “C’mon, you can do a few more minutes,” he says a bit hoarsely, wiping at his mouth. He pumps Harry slowly, gripping the base of his dick. Louis bites his lip and he looks like he’s thinking. “Grab a throw pillow,” he says calmly as he crawls back to pull Harry’s jeans and pants off fully before spreading his legs out and settling between them instead of outside of them.

Harry is confused, but he does so anyway.

“Okay, so, moan into that if you have to,” he orders before he wriggles onto his stomach and drops his head again. This time, he goes for Harry’s arsehole, flicking his tongue out and giving a tentative lick.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Harry immediately brings the pillow up to his face and lets out a low, guttural moan as Louis continues to lap around the area, kneading his thighs while he does so.

The edge off of his need to come is gone, but replaced with a deep, deep pleasure. Louis hasn’t done this before, and the only other person who has did it once. The sensations are essentially foreign to him, and he doesn’t know how to react. Louis keeps kissing him there, swirling his tongue around in a circle, and sucking loudly around the rim.

Harry is so far gone. He’s gripping the pillow tightly, he knows that his knuckles have gone white, and his breath is coming out in hitched cries. Louis keeps eating him out, and he’s whispering things like, “You taste so good,” “Fuck, I needed this,” and “Jesus, you’re so hot.”

And then Louis is pressing a wet finger inside of him, just enough to open him up so that his tongue can slip in as well, and Christ, he’s fucking him with his tongue now while sucking around with his lips.

The need to come is back, and it’s back quickly.

“Louis…” Harry peeks his head out from the pillow and whispers softly.

Louis doesn’t respond. He’s too busy with Harry’s arse, continuing to fuck his tongue in and out.

“Ngh,” Harry lets out, knowing that he can’t hold on much longer. He juts his hips a little, and Louis finally comes up, getting the picture.

He smirks. “Ready, baby?”

Harry nods.

Without hesitation, Louis sucks his cock back in, bobbing his head and making quick work of the job. And Harry is coming, throwing the pillow back onto his face and coming right down Louis’ throat as the thrilling and comforting wave of pleasure and relaxation washes over him.

Louis pulls off, grinning and wiping around his lips seductively. Harry peers at him, completely fucked out. Louis licks over his lips as well, clearly enjoying the reaction that he’s getting.

“Good now?” he asks.

Harry nods blankly. “Ngh,” he repeats, unable to form words. Louis stands up, grabbing Harry’s jeans off the floor and tosses them back onto the bed, and Harry notices the tent in his joggers. That makes him spring back to life, and he sits up, making grabby motions at his crotch.

Louis shrugs him off. “Don’t worry about me, I just need a minute.”

“ _No_ ,” Harry says decisively, grabbing Louis by his jumper and yanking him back onto the bed. “Wanna get you off.”

Louis sighs, pretending to be annoyed, but still smirking at the mouth. “If you insist, _Harold_. Just let me get these off.” He nudges Harry off of him and stands to drop his joggers and briefs before crawling back up to him and nuzzling up to his mouth. He takes Harry’s hand and guides it to his cock. Harry wraps around it tightly and starts to pump him.

“Use your hand,” Louis urges. “Wanna kiss you.”

Harry won’t argue with that. He presses his mouth to Louis’ and licks between his lips, opening up his mouth and letting his tongue in. He tastes himself, and Louis, so much Louis that he hasn’t felt in a while, and he hums happily into the kiss.

He keeps stroking Louis over and over, rolling his fist over the tip of his leaking cock and teasing the slit with his fingers.

Louis whimpers lightly, bringing a hand up to run through Harry’s curls and winding them around his fingers. Harry only presses against Louis harder at this contact, sucking into his mouth and squeezing and pumping his cock harder and harder.

Within minutes, Louis is writhing beside him, panting into his mouth and coming across his hand. Harry bites at his bottom lip before pulling away and jumping up to grab a tissue.

Louis flops on his back as Harry wipes him down, smiling hazily at him.

“That was so good, Hazza,” he murmurs, petting Harry’s head as if he were a child.

Harry smiles up at him. “Yeah, it was.”

He tosses the tissue into the bin and grabs his pants and jeans to pull them back on. “Do I look really fucked out?”

Louis looks him up and down. “Grab the hairbrush on my dresser and get a drink of water in the kitchen. You’ll be fine. It’s, uh, me. ‘M gonna just wash my face or whatever, tell them I’m in the toilet.”

Harry buttons his jeans, squeezing into them, and frowns. “You sure that’s okay?”

Louis rolls his eyes and stands up as well. “Lottie is thirteen, Harry. She’s not, like, watching for blowjob lips or whatever.” He stands on his toes to kiss Harry on the temple before grabbing his briefs and joggers again and yanking them on.

Harry shrugs. “Okay.” He grabs the hairbrush and cards it through his hair until he looks neat again.

“Here.” Louis passes him a book off of his shelf. “Stick that in your bag or whatever.”

Harry nods and unlocks the door, going back downstairs and ducking into the kitchen to grab the water Louis had instructed him to before reentering the living room. He bends behind the couch and zips open his bag, dropping the book in.

He looks up and there are no open seats, so he just plops down on the second recliner, right on top of Niall.

“Oi!” he squeaks as Harry settles into his lap, laughing.

Louis comes cantering down the stairs moments later, looking, if anything, fresher and cleaner than he did when they left, and Daisy pops her head up between Lottie and Fizzy to greet him. “What took you so long? The show is over.”

Louis laughs and pats her head. “I’ll catch it another time, Button. We got talking about the book and didn’t want to bore you all with our _literary analysis_.”

She scrunches her nose up and indeed does look like a button. “What’s that?”

Louis points over at Zayn. “Thinking about books. It’s what Zaynie and I study at uni.”

“Oh. Okay.” She turns to Harry. “Do you study books too, Harry?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No, I’m boring. Just people and business.”

“But he’s still good at it,” Zayn offers.

Daisy nods and sits back down. “I like books, most of the time, unless my teachers make me read them.”

Harry leans back and grabs Niall’s arms to wrap around him. “Cuddle me, Niall.”

Niall does, but he tilts his mouth into Harry’s ear and whispers, “You are disgusting, Harry Styles, using me for your post-sex cuddles.”

Harry jumps up at that, shaking his head fiercely. “ _Not_ what I meant,” he mutters.

“’M tired, anyway,” Niall says, urging Harry off of him. “Nearly ten.”

Liam checks his watch. “It’s nine fifty two.”

“Right, so nearly ten,” Niall says. “Louis, can you show us the den? At least get our stuff set up and such.”

“Yeah, this way.” He picks up Harry’s bag but leaves Niall’s there and they follow him. The den is a bit more spacious than Louis’ room, with one couch and another smaller one that’s already pulled out into a bed. There’s also a desktop computer in the corner and several family photos hanging on the wall – Louis as a toddler with his mother, Louis with a baby girl who must be Lottie, all of the children together, and more.

“Here, I’ll get it made,” Louis says, grabbing a set of sheets and blanket from under the bed and moving to put it together.

Harry walks over and helps him, while Niall grabs a set by the couch and gets moving with it. “I’ll take this one,” he says. “’M shorter than you, Harry.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry says, leaning across the bed to yank a sheet corner over the thin mattress. “Whatever you want.”

“We can alternate, or whatever, I’ll take it tonight.”

“You’re really good with them, by the way,” Louis says, looking at Harry with a crinkly-eyed smile. “The girls. They only just met you and I think they love you already.”

Harry shrugs and tosses the pillows to one end of the bed. “I just like kids. And they’re sweet.”

Niall makes a gagging noise.

“Not that it’s hard to,” Louis continues, smoothing the blanket over the top. “Love you, that is.”

Harry puckers his lips into a kiss and smooches quietly.

Niall gags some more.

The door opens then, it seems, because the living room gets loud again and Harry hears an unfamiliar voice.

“Oh, that’ll be Mum, maybe Dan.” Louis perks up.

“Louis?” her voice calls as she walks down the hallway. She pops her head into the den and smiles, stepping in to greet the boys. She’s a very lovely woman and her grin reminds Harry, again, of Louis’, warm and sunny. “Okay, who’s Harry and who’s Niall?”

Harry reaches his hand out slowly. He feels more nervous than he thinks that he should be, but this is Louis’ _mum_ , the woman he speaks so highly of and cares so much about that he’d literally do anything for. “I’m Harry. Thank you so much for having us, Ms. Tomlinson, it’s really great to meet you all.”

She pulls him into a hug. “Oh, I’m just Jay, and it’s no problem at all. We love it when Louis brings people home. We’ve heard so much about you, all of you.” She pulls back and turns to Niall, greeting and hugging him as well.

Harry turns to the bed and finishes making it and catches Louis’ eye. He’s beaming again.

“Is Dan here?” he asks his mother.

“Oh, no, he had an early day in tomorrow.” She heads back to the door, asking Harry and Niall, “Did you have something to eat, are you hungry?”

“Oh, if it’s not too much trouble…” Niall says as he follows her out.

Louis rolls his eyes and rounds around the bed to pull Harry in for a quick hug before tugging him back out into the living area and kitchen.

*

Harry is woken up at nine sharp by a pair of bright blue eyes blinking at him. They’re too small to be Louis’.

“Hullo?” he asks, voice low and thick with sleep. His hair is strewn across his face and he blinks through it, bringing a hand up to push his fringe out of his eyes so he can see who he’s talking to.

It’s one of the twins.

“Good morning, Harreh!” she chirps, bouncing on her toes.

He props himself up on his elbows, trying to find a piece of identifying information on her to figure out which girl it is. “Good morning…”

“Daisy,” she offers helpfully. “Mummy is making breakfast, toast and eggs. She didn’t tell me to wake you but I thought I would while the food is still hot.”

He smiles and pats her on the shoulder. “That’s very kind of you, Daisy. I’ll be right out.”

She looks past him pointedly at Niall, who’s sprawled out all over the couch, having kicked the blanket off at some point in the night. “We should get him up too,” she states matter-of-factly.

“No, I’d let Niall sleep,” Harry suggests. “He gets a bit grumpy when you wake him.”

Daisy shrugs and skips toward the door.

“I’ll just dress and wash up and be out soon,” he calls after her before getting up and locking the door to change.

He comes into the kitchen after using the toilet ten minutes later and sees Jay busying herself with food around the table and Louis setting it. Eleanor is sat there, talking to Jay.

“Hi Harry!” Daisy greets him again.

“Hello.”

“Did she wake you up?” Louis asks. “This is way too –” he stops and pours glasses of juice into the cups on the table. “Yeah, just early, is all.”

Harry shrugs and pats Daisy on the head. “It’s fine. It’s a nice pair of eyes to open up to.” He shoots Louis a wink when no one else is looking and he blushes.

“Have a seat, Harry, should we wait for Niall?” Jay asks, gesturing him to a chair beside Eleanor. He slowly makes his way over and sits down.

“No, he’ll probably be asleep for a while longer.”

“Have a seat, then, Louis, everything’s ready. Lord knows that Lottie and Fizzy won’t be up for a while yet either.” Jay sits down herself at the left end and Louis on the other, by Eleanor. Daisy plops down by Harry and grins.

“Mummy makes good food,” she says, reaching for the plate of eggs.

“I’m sure she does,” Harry responds with a smile.

“Daisy, serve our guest first,” Jay prods.

The little girl nods and drops a spoonful of eggs on to Harry’s plate.

“Thank you!” he says while reaching for a piece of toast.

“I like you,” Daisy muses as she fills her plate and starts to eat. “I think you’re going to be my new best friend.”

Harry’s heart grows three sizes in that moment. “Well, I think _you’re_ going to be _my_ new best friend, too,” he shoots back with a flashy grin.

“Hey!” Louis teases from the other end of the table. “Harry’s _my_ best friend. You can’t have him.” He sticks his tongue out at her and Daisy returns the favor.

“I thought Stan was your best friend,” Phoebe muses from across the table. “And Zayn.”

“I have many best friends,” Louis says declaratively. “Different friends for different things.”

Harry bites his cheeks to keep his poker face.

“What are your plans for the day?” Jay asks, steering the conversation. “Now that all of your friends are here I thought I’d put a big dinner together, and then you can go out or whatever you want to do, since you couldn’t yesterday. Thanks again, Louis, for watching the girls last night so Dan and I could go out. I’m sorry you and Eleanor couldn’t have a date night, but why don’t you do something this afternoon?”

Harry stabs an egg.

Louis coughs and shifts in his seat, clearly searching for words.

“Actually,” Eleanor says, “I have a few friends in town I haven’t had a chance to meet up with yet. I was going to have tea and some shopping with them this afternoon. If that’s good for you?” she asks Louis.

He nods his head vigorously and pats her hand with only a slight tinge of awkwardness that Harry can pick up on. “No, go do that, you’ve been cooped up in here long enough. I’ll take the lads around town.” He gives a slight nod to Harry.

“Sounds great.” Harry grins in return.

“And thanks for dinner, Mum,” Louis continues. “I think we’ll take you up on that, how does that sound, Harry?”

“Yeah, yeah, anything, really. I’ll do whatever. Up for anything.”

Niall wakes up within the hour, likely because Daisy and Phoebe get into a shouting match over the last slice of toast, and Zayn and Liam show up a bit after that. They’re all on the Xbox in the living room by noon, Zayn and Liam sat on the floor and on the controllers while Harry and Niall are trying to give directions from the couch. Louis is somewhere with one of the girls, last Harry knew. Eleanor was picked up by friends about fifteen minutes ago and Harry is significantly more relaxed without her presence, as awful as it makes him feel.

Niall’s phone buzzes, then Liam’s, then Zayn’s. Harry’s is silent.

“Harry, look at that for me, I’m busy,” Niall says as he leans over Zayn and presses several buttons for him.

Harry grabs the phone out of the back pocket of Niall’s jeans and slides it open, typing the passcode – 1234, of course – in and opening the messages app.

_Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik_

_I am coming downstairs in three minutes and I am going to ask if anyone wants to go for a drive through town and you three are going to say “No thanks.” LOVE YOU!_

“Um,” Harry says. “Here, read it.”

Niall huffs as he leans up and leaves Zayn to fend for himself before peering over Harry’s arms. He rolls his eyes as he leans back to Zayn. “Check your texts, lads,” he says to Zayn and Liam, pausing the game quickly.

They do, and soon after, Louis strides in in his usual loud manner. Harry leans back to say hi and is met with a bright grin and a Louis clad in black skinnies, a red jumper, and one of the beanies that Harry had bought and given him before they went to bed last night.

“Okay, lads, let’s do something,” he cries out. “Come on, a drive around town or summat.”

The other three turn to look at him with dry faces.

“I’ll stay in,” Liam says at first. “Or for now, at least, maybe go off somewhere later.”

“Yeah,” Niall adds. “We have my car here, so don’t worry about us.”

Zayn just gives a thumbs-up and goes back to the game. “’M with them, a bit tired still.”

Louis sighs exaggeratedly loudly. “Haz?”

Harry’s lips curl up. “I’ll come with you, of course.”

Niall snorts and Harry kicks him in the small of the back.

“Perfect, let’s go and leave these spoilsports behind.”

Harry follows him into the entry hallway and pulls his boots and coat on.

“Bye Mum!” Louis calls out as he opens the door and gestures for Harry to leave.

They get in the car and Harry leaves his coat on – it’s colder out than he’d expected. Louis straps in and looks at Harry, filled with happiness. He presses a quick kiss to Harry’s jawline and starts the car.

“Smooth,” Harry comments as they pull out of the driveway.

“I try.”

“Where are we going?”

Louis purses his lips as if he were thinking. “Well we could meet the other three for lunch in an hour or so, I’ll shoot Zayn a text in a minute. But, like, did you just want to drive around town for now?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect. Anything with you, Lou, I meant it. I mean, I’d be happy to sit on the couch and play cards with Daisy all day, but anything you want to show me I’ll happily take.”

“She likes you, y’know. It’s cute, she usually doesn’t latch herself onto people she just met like that.” Louis takes a hand off the wheel and squeezes Harry’s knee.

“It’s the curls,” Harry says decisively. “They’re one hundred and ten percent guaranteed to win over any Tomlinson who touches them.”

“Yes, I concur with that.”

There’s a pause in the conversation for a few minutes until Louis speaks again, more softly this time. “I’m really happy you’re here, Harry. Thank you for coming.”

Harry tilts his head up at him upside down and bats his eyes. “I’m happy to be here.”

Louis smiles softer than ever and nods at the road ahead. “Almost there. Y’know, I haven’t been back in a while. Since, like, June, I think.”

Harry sits up straight again. “Where?”

“Hall Cross. My school.”

Harry clambers out of the car when Louis pulls up and grabs a spot in the car park.

“I don’t think it’ll be open,” Louis says as he locks the car and drops his keys in his pocket. “But I wanted to come by and walk around a bit.”

Harry nods and steps over to Louis. “Of course. Is anyone else here?”

He shakes his head. “I doubt it.” He slips an arm around Harry’s waist and pulls him forward. Harry melts into the touch, molding his body against Louis’ as they walk in sync. They test the door and, yes, it’s locked.

“Aww.” Louis pouts. “I wanted to see the theatre. But come around the back with me, we’ll be able to get onto the football pitch.”

They round a corner and Harry makes sure to keep his body stuck to Louis’ the entire walk. They come to a halt as they hit the brownish grass and Louis detaches himself from Harry, walking forward and spreading his arms out. “This,” he says simply, turning in a slow circle.

It looks very much like the one in Holmes Chapel. The pitch must be regulation size, but the setup makes it look significantly smaller than Manchester’s, and the goals are a bit rusty with a few holes dotted in the net. There are bleachers on either side, tarnished silver and cold to the touch.

“It’s gone a bit…downhill, the state of things,” Louis says softly, nudging his toe at the faded paint along the sidelines. “I’m hoping that if I get signed it’ll draw more attention to the team and program here. That they’ll fix it up to how I remember it.” He walks around the pitch a bit and Harry just watches. He’s never been here before, of course, never seen Louis here, but the boy looks right at home, sticking out like a sore thumb in his red and black clothing while his movements blend right in. Harry feels like he’s intruding on a personal moment.

“There are no balls!” Louis says loudly all of a sudden, making Harry jump out of his skin. “Nothing to kick. And if the main building was locked then I don’t have a way of getting through to the gym.” He walks to the middle of the pitch and plops down right on his arse in centerfield, beckoning Harry over.

Harry follows and sits across from Louis, staring him straight in those bright, blue eyes. “You look nice,” he mumbles softly. “But you aren’t wearing a coat. Why do you never wear a coat?”

Louis throws his head back and laughs, bringing his legs into a tighter crisscross position. “I don’t need one. I know it worries you, but I like the cold. And thank you. You’re beautiful.”

Harry blushes despite himself. He bites his lip and leans over as if to kiss Louis before remembering himself and retreating. Louis just braces himself on the grass by placing his hands in front of him and leans across quickly, pecking Harry on the mouth and darting back before anyone can round the bend and see them.

“I love you,” Louis says softly, uttering the words in person for the first time.

Harry’s lips are warm now, and he spreads them into a smile before replying. “I love you, too.”

Louis grabs Harry’s hands, linking the two of them. “I promised we’d talk about everything you asked me last week.”

Harry nods.

“So, like…” Louis takes a deep breath in and out and squeezes Harry’s hands tightly. “You said people were giving you a hard time about us. What did you mean about that?”

Harry swallows and looks over Louis’ head, through the goal meters beyond him, and into the small patch of trees behind that. “In the car Gemma was asking for a picture of you. She recognized you. Then my mum went on about how _wonderful_ and _progressive_ it was you’re in the process of getting signed. So I had to tell her. Then one of my friends, well she’s an old lady, like a grandmother, really, she kept asking why I couldn’t bring you around home – I told her, too. And I know I shouldn’t be so focused on what other people think, but these are three of the people I was closest to before going to uni. So if they’re worried for me then I felt that I was doing something wrong.”

Harry brings his eyes back down to Louis and sees that his are downcast, staring at their joined hands. “It’s important to listen to the people who want what’s best for you,” he finally says. “I mean – you know that’s what I’ve done.”

“But, like, I’m not actually regretting anything I’ve done? Just thinking that I should. I guess they’re questioning me because I was so open at home. I’m very gay, you know.”

Louis laughs at that and makes eye contact with him. “Yeah, I picked up on it.” He lifts his right hand to brush the fringe out of Harry’s face, smoothing it behind his ears. “Maybe – I don’t know, I’m thinking. Maybe you should be out if you want to. I shouldn’t ask you to lie about your sexuality for me.”

And Harry shakes his head fervently at that, because _no_ , he doesn’t want to be out without Louis. He can’t. “I refuse that on principle,” he declares. “Not without you.”

“Okay. It was an idea.”

“Tell me again why you aren’t out to your family,” he blurts out, retroactively biting his tongue.

Louis pulls closer into himself, closing his eyes, but Harry refuses to let him drop his hands. They sit in silence for longer than before. Finally, Louis stutters, “My mother has so much on her plate, Harry.” More silence. “My bio dad has been cropping up here and there the past few months. Asking to see her, asking for my phone number. I didn’t know until I got home and I picked up the phone when I wasn’t supposed to. He talks about how his leaving was a mistake and won’t get the picture when she keeps telling him that nineteen years later, he’s fucking irrelevant to everyone.”

“Louis, I –” Harry tries to say something but he keeps talking over him.

“And then there’s Mark, my sisters’ dad, my dad. He’s there, but he’s not, and I don’t want to hate him, don’t want my sisters to hate him, but I see the kind of pressure and stress he puts my mother under and I can’t add to that. Dan is in the picture now, he has been for a while, and he’s so good with the girls, I just want him to stay. I want Mum to be able to focus on that. So I guess what I’m getting at, is that if I wasn’t in the position I was in now with football, I don’t think I’d have a problem with it at all, because it wouldn’t cause her any hardship. I don’t like lying to my family. I want her to meet you for who you are, Harry. But if she knew everything that I’m juggling right now, she’d try and help, I know she would, and she doesn’t need to do that. I’m an adult. So that’s why.”

He stops, and Harry sees the tears budding at the corners of his eyes, so he lifts his hands and thumbs them away. Louis leans into his touch.

“Okay, Louis.”

“She loves you, though,” he says, eyes still closed. “Everyone does. It must be the curls, like you said. She says you’re polite, respectable, and that your puns are ‘quite good,’ and I don’t know where she got that one from because everything you were spewing to Daisy at breakfast was shit, Harold.”

Harry laughs and presses a kiss to his forehead. They rest like that for a moment, heads together, still sat in the middle of the football pitch.

Then Louis pushes away and asks, “So are you okay with this? Or what? Tell me everything else.”

“I seem to keep fucking up on the communication front, for one,” Harry says, bringing his hands to rest on Louis’ thighs. “I messed things up with some friends at home and I don’t know how to fix it without still looking like an arse.”

“You really can’t just shoot him a message and say, ‘I’m an arse, forgive me, I didn’t check my texts properly and I apologize for not getting back to you’?”

And, well, it sounds a lot simpler when Louis puts it like that. Louis nudges him in the chest and says, “Sometimes you need to just say you were being an arse and then it’s a lot easier for people to take.”

“I could do that, maybe.”

Louis nods. “So we have one thing fixed.”

“I think I can,” Harry muses. “I know that my mum and sister and Barbara care about me. But maybe they’re not all the way right on this one. I love you, and I want to be with you, so I need to stop letting other people get to my head.”

Louis’ mouth twinges into a smile. “As long as it’s what you want.”

Harry leans in and kisses him quickly. “I want you,” he says against his mouth. “I really, really want you, and seeing you again only solidified that.”

Louis nods, their faces touching, before pulling back and standing up. He tugs Harry up with him and nods over to the bleachers.

“What are we doing?” Harry asks.

Louis pulls him over to the side and gives him a gentle shove underneath the big, metal bars. Harry falls to the ground and Louis kneels beside him, pulling him close again. He loops his arms around his neck and kisses him, with more passion and urgency this time than the quick and reassuring kisses they’d shared on the pitch. “Remember my bucket list?” Louis asks between touches. “I’ve always wanted to snog someone I actually care about under here.”

Harry pulls him closer at that confession, so Louis is sitting on his lap with his legs splayed out behind them. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, squeezing him tight.

Louis moans at the contact, and even more so when Harry licks along his bottom lip and sucks at it. He tilts his head to allow Harry better access, and he sucks in, running their tongues together, and it’s _so warm_ compared to the air around them, and they’re _so close_ , and it feels _so good_ , he thinks that it’s almost better than sex, in a way.

They stay like that, slowly and thoroughly snogging, for a long while. They let little moans, whimpers, and sighs pass between each other as they do so, exchanging sounds of contentment. It doesn’t turn into anything more – Harry’s happy that way, and it seems Louis is too. For a brief minute he peppers Louis’ neck with kisses, light enough so that he won’t leave a mark, and Louis moves his hands from Harry’s neck to inside Harry’s coat. They’re _freezing_.

“Louis,” Harry pants, pulling away.

He slips them out quickly. “Sorry, ‘m a bit chilly.”

“Yes you are. We should go back to the car.”

Louis pouts, crossing his arms and legs and looking so incredibly adorable like the sulky baby that he is. “Don’t want to.”

“When are we meeting them for lunch?” Harry insists.

“Half one. Now come back here.” He leans forward to try and rope Harry in again, but Harry just snatches Louis’ phone out of his back pocket and stares pointedly at the time.

“It’s ten to it, Lou, we should go.” He crawls past him and back into the open air, shivering at the wind. Louis follows reluctantly behind him. “You must be so cold,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around Louis as they turn to head back to the car park.

“I’d be colder,” Louis says, “if I didn’t have you with me.”

*

They have lunch with the other three lads at a small café in ‘downtown Doncaster,’ as Louis calls it, and it’s all quite nice. Louis runs into a few people that he knows and they all get introduced. By this point, of course, he’s decked out in the coat at Harry’s insistence.

They spend the rest of the afternoon walking around the shops, and thankfully they don’t run into Eleanor and her friends. By the time they get back to Louis’ house it’s six and they’re all ready to eat again before heading out to the pubs that night.

“I’m sorry she has to come,” Louis says softly as he takes the keys out of the ignition and they open the door. “But, you know…”

“It’s okay,” Harry says quickly, not wanting to drag the conversation out. “I’ll just dance up on Niall all night. Practice for New Year’s, right?”

Louis shoots him a grateful grin as they make their way to the front door with the others. The house smells warm and of spaghetti as they walk in, and two little blonde girls come barreling their way.

“Oi!” Louis shouts, pushing through them and hanging Harry’s coat on the wall. “We just got here, give us a bit of space, yeah?”

“That’s Harry’s coat,” Daisy points out. “Is it comfy?”

Harry bites his lip as he watches Louis’ reaction. Louis just nods and pats her head. “Very, Button. I forgot mine and he was nice enough to share it with me.”

Daisy nods, satisfied with the answer, and prances back to the dining room. They all follow her in, and find Lottie, Fizzy, and Eleanor setting the table and chatting while Dan helps Jay put the rest of the food together.

“Hi boys,” Jay greets them as she places a salad on the table. “You’re just in time. Take a seat. Daisy, Phoebe, if you could take the table I sat up for you over by the corner.”

Daisy stomps her foot and whines. “I wanted to sit by Harry again, Mummy.”

“No, love, we have guests tonight, and they’re sitting at the table.”

Harry crouches down to her level. “We’ll take breakfast or lunch together tomorrow, does that sound good?”

She pouts, but nods her head anyway. “Mummy, can we make pancakes?” she asks as she sits in the child-size folding chairs set up at a small table across the room.

“Oh, Harry makes fantastic pancakes,” Louis blurts out.

Harry doesn’t know how to react like that, and by the sheer panic in Louis’ eyes as they flash over to him, neither does he.

“Yeah, they’re great,” Liam adds on as he sits at the table. “Harry’s a great baker.”

Louis visibly exhales. Harry makes a note in the back of his mind to bake Liam cookies sometime.

“Not as good as yours, though,” Louis says to his mother with a wink in Harry’s direction.

Jay laughs and crosses back to the table with Dan. “You can let me know how they compare, Harry.”

“Absolutely,” he answers.

“Introductions, then,” she says, her hand on Dan’s back. “For those of you that haven’t met him, Harry and Niall, this is my boyfriend, Dan.”

They shake hands, and he seems friendly enough. Everyone is gestured to sit, and Harry ends up pressed by Louis.

“Where do you want to sit?” Louis whispers up to him amongst the hubbub of the dining room.

“I don’t know. Where do you want to sit?” Harry’s trying to leave the ball in his court.

“Next to you,” he responds, dropping into the seat in the middle of the table.

Eleanor crosses over and sits on his left, and Harry sees that as his cue to take the seat on Louis’ right. The table is a bit crowded, but they fit with the younger girls on their own. Lottie is sat on his other side at the corner, followed by Jay. Dan took the other end of the table with Fizzy between him and Eleanor. The rest of the order follows as Liam, Zayn, and Niall.

They begin eating and the table falls into several conversations at once.

“Harry!” Lottie says, passing him the salad dressing. “What do you study, again? I think you mentioned it last night but I didn’t catch it.”

He smiles politely. “Sociology and Business. It’s all right, I guess, though I enjoy the first more than the second so far.”

She nods, far too vigorously for the topic at hand. “I might go into business. You’ll have to let me know how it goes for you.”

He smiles again, but it feels more like a grimace this time. Of course his boyfriend’s sister would have the hots for him. She’s fucking _thirteen_ , for crying out loud, he feels like a pervert and he isn’t even the one doing the flirting. He tries to turn to Niall and engage him in something, but she doesn’t let up.

She keeps throwing random points of conversation out there, and he answers politely enough, but not so that she’ll start to think he’s interested or something, until Louis finally says, very loudly, “Hey, Lottie, pass the rolls, will you?”

She does so, but continues to talk while passing the basket right in front of Harry’s face. “He said you bake?” She gestures to Liam with her free hand. “What made you get interested in that?”

Jay laughs next to her and winks at Harry.

He wishes that people wouldn’t find this sort of thing amusing. It’s all very uncomfortable, especially considering the context.

“He worked in a bakery during secondary school, Lottie,” Louis says snappily.

Right. If this is annoying Harry he can only imagine how Louis must feel. Your sister, your rather young sister, flirting it up with your boyfriend when you can’t say anything explicit to shut her up.

“I wasn’t asking you,” she counters.

“Well I’m telling you,” he shoots back.

“Oh my God,” Jay says, her voice raising above the din. “You two, always at each other’s throats. Always have been,” she adds, directing that last bit toward Harry.

He nods and smiles.

Lottie grumbles and goes back to her food, Louis smirking, as he seems to have won this round.

As they finish their meal and slowly get up to bring their plates to the sink, Jay says, “Have fun while you’re out. Just try to come in quietly, and have a designated, okay?”

Eleanor stands and puts a hand to her head. “I’ve a bit of a headache. I’m sorry, Louis, it wouldn’t upset you if I stayed in and had a quiet one, would it?”

Harry thinks that either Eleanor was a great actor during dinner, because she was completely engaged with Fizzy and had a full appetite, or she’s really doing them a solid right now. Maybe he should bake her a batch of cookies too, as much as the thought pains him.

“Oh no,” Louis says, walking over to her and patting her back. “Rest up. Don’t want you to get ill.”

Harry sincerely hopes that he’s the only one who thinks that Louis’ a terrible actor.

“Do you need any medicine?” Jay asks, worried.

“No, no.” Eleanor brushes the offer off and just takes a sip of her water from the table. “Thank you, though. I’ll have a lie-in in the bedroom.”

“If you’re feeling up to it,” Fizzy offers, “We could watch a movie or summat.”

Eleanor’s eyes flicker to Louis worriedly before saying, “Maybe, thanks for the offer. I’ll see how I’m feeling in an hour or so.”

Most people filter out of the kitchen but Harry stays behind to help Jay clean up. He feels bad for her, dealing with all of this, and even more so after what Louis spilled to him earlier. “Let me get that for you,” he offers, taking the pasta bowl out of her hands and slipping it into the sink. “I can wash them.”

She squeezes his shoulder. “You’re a dear. But no, go get ready, I’m fine here and you’re on holiday.”

He shakes his head and gestures to the clock on the oven with his chin. “It’s only seven. We won’t be leaving for a while yet.” He runs the sink and takes the sponge off the counter to soap it up.

“Thank you, then, Harry, you’re very kind.” She steps up beside him, a drying towel ready.

“It’s really just what I’m used to,” he insists.

“Your mother must have raised you well.”

He smiles. “She did. She’s a very good woman.”

“You seem to mean quite a lot to him, you know,” Jay says as Harry hands her the pan and reaches for the next dish. “Louis, I mean. He mentioned you a lot when he phoned home, and you get on quite well from what I can see.”

Harry smiles and nods his head, although the rest of his body language is constrained. “He’s a very close friend.”

“It’s nice, I think, for him to have friendships like this,” she muses. “He’d always joked about wanting a younger brother when he was little. He seems to have taken you under his wing like that.”

Harry inwardly winces, because the absolute last thing he wants his relationship with Louis to be compared to is a brotherly one. Still, he says, “He’s been quite helpful this term. Getting used to uni, and all that.” It’s not a lie.

They talk for the rest of the time that it takes them to clean, mostly bantering about Louis, sometimes about other random things. Harry likes her very much. Her personality reminds him a bit of his mum, although she is younger and a bit easier to talk to – probably because she isn’t, as a matter of fact, his mother. She seems to like him, too.

“And then he just fell right on his face,” she says, recanting a story of Louis being an utter klutz at football for a while as a child. “Amazing he is where he is now.”

Harry laughs, his face lighting up. He could listen to this all day, stories of Louis as a baby, Louis as a little kid, and Louis as a young teenager. It isn’t even that Jay is being your stereotypical embarrassing mother about it all – they’re really just talking about what they have in common, and for the most part, that’s Louis.

“I just can’t believe it,” she says. “To go from flipping burgers at Keepmoat Stadium to possibly playing there someday.”

“Oh, I think he’ll be playing places bigger than that,” Harry says, taking a bowl from her and lifting it into one of the higher cupboards.

“Really?”

He shrugs. “He doesn’t say much about the specifics, really. He says he can’t. But I’ve seen him play. He’s very, very talented.”

“I made it to a few games, last year. Things have just been so busy, lately, what with…the hospital, and the girls, I haven’t had the time to drive.”

Harry nods. “He knows.” He hesitates, wondering if it’s his place, before continuing, “He thinks a lot about all of your well-being. I know that his family is very important to him.”

She smiles, wiping her hands on the towel and lying it across the oven handle. Louis comes bounding down the stairs, decked out in a pair of jeans tighter than before and Harry’s red t-shirt. He sees it and smiles.

“Talking about me?” Louis asks, walking into the kitchen to grab water. He has his hair done up in a _quiff_ , a fucking quiff that Harry hasn’t seen before, and he thinks that he might pass out.

“Only good things,” Harry and Jay say at the same time, and they laugh together.

Louis keeps his eyes suspiciously on them as he downs the drink.

“Who’s driving?” Jay asks.

“Niall,” Louis answers. “Says he doesn’t want to get pissed without his girl anyway.”

Harry snorts. “Right whipped, that one.”

“And on that, is Eleanor all right? She seemed fine during dinner, I’m a bit worried if it came on so sudden.” Jay asks with concern.

Louis shrugs, and Harry wonders if he actually knows how flippant he’s looked about the girl all day. “She just needs a rest, I think.” He pokes at Harry’s side with his two index fingers. “Harry, we’re planning on leaving in half an hour. So, you know, if you need to change…”

“I will, I will.” He heads toward the den. “Hey, Lou, bring a coat this time, will you? I mean, I don’t mind lending you mine, but it’s even colder now…”

“For crying out loud, don’t take the poor boy’s jacket!” Jay exclaims, snatching the towel to swat her son with.

Harry just laughs as he shuts and locks the door to the den. Once he’s out of the picture, though, Jay’s tone of voice changes.

“Louis Tomlinson, do you mind explaining your behavior to me?”

Harry takes his jumper off and sorts through his duffel for the t-shirt and blazer he’d packed, brushing past the sheer top he has for Monday night.

“What do you mean, Mum?”

“When you said you were bringing a girl home, I assumed it was serious. And it doesn’t have to be, but I’m amazed at how you’re treating her.”

_Shit_.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Harry looks down at his jeans and figures they’re good enough for tonight.

“You know full well what I am. You’re ignoring and speaking coldly to her. You were never like this with Hannah, or Bethany.”

“Well, I’m older now, how do you know that this isn’t how I act around the people in my life?”

They have to know that Harry’s hearing this, it’s their house, and the door definitely isn’t soundproofed.

“Because, for crying out loud, it’s a complete one-eighty from how you treat your mates! And it’s been getting progressively worse, since they arrived. I raised you better than this.”

Harry can almost hear Louis lean sarcastically against the counter, or wherever he is. “Again. I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mum.”

“My God, Louis, do you not see what I’m trying to get at?” Her voice drops and Harry has to step over by the door and strain to pick it up. “Do you know what Dan asked me as we were clearing the table? He said, ‘Are you sure it’s the girl he’s with and not the boy on his right?’”

_Fucking_ shit. And Harry leans against the wall, ready to plug his ears, because he doesn’t want to hear what he knows is about to come from Louis’ mouth.

It isn’t the blatant and painful, _You’re deluded, Mum, I’m not dating Harry,_ though, thankfully. Instead, Louis sounds like he’s losing his temper, and he says unnecessarily loudly, “I am not discussing this with you right now. Stop saying these things,” and Harry hears a knock on the den door. “Harry, you in there? We should get going now, actually.”

“Yeah, just a mo’,” he says, rushing up to grab his boots and pull them on.

“Louis, I’m not trying to say…” Jay’s voice comes through again.

“Enough, Mum, _please_ , stop worrying about me.”


	19. You Know It Seems the More We Talk About It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's shorter than the last few, but it isn't particularly something I wanted to drag out. Hope you like it! :)

“We’re leaving in five,” Liam calls from behind the den’s door as Harry finishes his outfit. “With or without you, Posh Spice.”

“You do realize that if I’m Posh, you’re Beckham, right?” Harry teases as he buttons his top up.

“I’ll take that one any day,” he retorts before Harry hears his feet pad away.

He smooths the dark blue shirt down, loving the sheer feeling that the fabric gives. It isn’t quite like a button-up, and no, despite Niall’s insistence, it isn’t a woman’s blouse, either. It’s a party shirt, and paired with his skin-tight black jeans (Do he and Louis wear anything else? _Should_ they, more like it.) and black leather boots with the tiniest bit of heel to them, it’s a fantastic outfit, he thinks. It’s New Year’s, after all, and it’s Louis’ party, so of course he wants to look nice.

He leaves the den and heads into the toilet to fix his hair a final time before they leave, following Louis and Zayn who headed out a few hours ago. They had to prepare for the party with Stan (who Harry met yesterday – he’s a great guy and seems to be Louis’ Jonny), and it has felt a bit odd for him to be here at Louis’ house without him. It hasn’t for Niall, or Liam, or even Eleanor, as far as he can tell, but Harry’s felt on edge since that night that Jay confronted Louis about him.

If she did at all – he’s still confused on that front. Louis had been in an awful mood for the rest of that night, squeezing in between Harry and Liam in the car and ranting the whole drive to the pub about how mothers should mind their own damn business. He’d kept apologizing to Harry, too, saying things like, “It must be her sixth Mum sense or whatever” and “Did she say anything to you, Haz, did she put you in an uncomfortable position, because I can tell her to keep it to herself,” until Zayn had finally whipped around and blurted out, “Maybe it’s just because I know you so well, and know your Harry face, but you’re fucking clear as day, mate, it’s not your mum,” and that had changed his mood from pissed to sullen.

The next morning Harry had woken up to hear that Louis had gone off to a charity football game with Eleanor for the afternoon. He tried not to let it rub him the wrong way, because, well, it was a football outing and that is definitely in Eleanor’s job description, but…still. They all went out with Stan that night and things were a bit more normal again, whatever normal was. They’d snuck off to the toilets, at least, and swapped quiet but incredible handjobs in a stall, so he did feel good about that.

When Louis was gone earlier that day, Jay continued to initiate conversation with Harry, but he had kept the topics steered away from Louis and tried to focus instead on doing fun and silly babysitter-like things with Daisy. She’s a cute girl, and definitely a much-needed distraction.

According to Louis, though, when they finally got a chance to talk alone – in the toilets at the pub – Jay had reassured him earlier that morning that she wasn’t actually suggesting that he and Harry were a couple, but more pointing out the discrepancy between his behavior with Harry and his behavior with Eleanor. Louis said he told him that so he wouldn’t worry as much, but a tiny, guilty part of Harry’s heart still sank.

Regardless, tonight, he’s definitely happy to be away from the Tomlinson clan at large, despite how much he likes them.

The ride to Stan’s is quick (and a bit awkward, considering Eleanor is riding with them, but Liam does a good job of keeping her involved in the conversation so that Harry doesn’t have to) and they’re the third car there. Music is already blaring from the house and the windows are flashing festive and colored lights – a very stark contrast from the weather outside, where it’s the coldest it’s been yet and looking a bit like snow.

Liam knocks on the door and Louis opens, decked out in an ugly Christmas jumper to match the one Stan is wearing at the other end of the room, full of grins and cheer. “Happy New Year’s Eve, lads and Eleanor!” he cheers, welcoming them inside.

The inside is just as decorated, with streamers and bright tinsel shining off of the walls, furniture, and stairway railings.

“Did we miss the party?” Niall jokes. “You just brought us here for the cleanup, didn’t you?”

Louis gives him a light punch – it seems that he’s buzzing already, judging from his demeanor and the near-empty punch glass in his hand – and says loudly, “No, but you’ll all be staying the night here anyway, so you can bet we’ll be roping you in come morning. Come on, let’s get you lot a drink.”

They follow him into the dining area, where a full, do-it-yourself bar is set up with liquor, wine, and beer bottles galore. “Whatever you want,” Stan says, urging them to grab something.

Harry just takes a glass of wine for now. He wants to get a feel for how the night is going to play out before he gets too pissed or anything. Louis hasn’t exactly greeted him individually yet, but he hasn’t done that to anyone but Niall and his witty comment, so he doesn’t take it personally for now.

“Hey, Harry,” Stan says, grabbing him by the shoulder and steering him into the kitchen.

“Hiya. Nice house, decorations and stuff, this’ll be a good party.” He thinks that Stan likes him, from what he can tell from their dinner out last night. He _wants_ Stan to like him, just like he wanted Jay and the girls to.

“Thanks, mate. I just – I wanted to say –”

He stops for a second, sputtering, and Harry urges him on.

“Louis didn’t ask me to say this, but I think that I should. He’s really, really gone for you, Harry. He wouldn’t shut up when we were decorating, going on about you left and right. Apparently it’s par for the course, according to Zayn.”

Harry blushes, only three sips into his drink. “Um. Okay.”

“Right, that’s not my point. Or my main one, I guess, sorry, I’ve had a few drinks already. Just know that however he acts tonight, whatever he has to say to people, he really fucking loves you, okay?”

Harry bites his lip. This isn’t exactly the most promising start to the evening. “He asked me to come, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says, more for his own sake than Stan’s. “And I’ve dealt with some crap all week, I’m used to it, but thanks for the advice.”

He nods. “Okay. Yeah. So that’s out of the way…” He trails off as he catches someone sneaking food out of the refrigerator. “Hey, that’s my mum’s fucking fridge, do I need to put a lock on it? There’s food out there, get the fuck out of my kitchen!” He turns back to Harry. “I don’t even know who that guy is.”

Harry laughs. “Big party, huh?”

Stan rolls his eyes as they leave the kitchen and head back toward the main rooms. “Understatement of the century. Louis promises that when he gets his big footballer flat in some city we’ll start busing people out there instead, but we’ll see about that. I’d say probably ninety percent of Doncaster’s youth will show up at some point or another tonight.”

“Oi!” Louis shrieks as they come into his line of view. “What’re you two on about?”

Harry shrugs and grabs a plastic shot glass. “Apparently you’re going to be a famous footballer and treat your whole town to a party someday,” he says, reaching for the vodka. He’s going to need to be drunk tonight, after all.

“Let me get that,” Louis says, cutting between Harry and Stan and snatching both the vodka bottle from Harry and a jug of tomato juice from across the table. “Gonna make you a Tommo.”

Harry hears Zayn and Stan snort at the non-sexual yet highly romantic innuendo but focuses on trying to snatch the juice out of Louis’ grasp. “You know I fucking hate that,” he snarls, but is too late.

Louis grins at him and passes the shot glass back. “Drink up, Harold.”

Harry pouts but downs the drink anyway. It burns like fucking hell, but clears his mind a bit and when he opens his eyes everything seems louder – although that may be the latest influx of over twenty people who just came pouring through the front door.

Louis pours one out for himself and belatedly toasts it to Harry.

“What’s with the jumpers?” Harry shouts over the music as Louis leads him into the living room.

“Tradition,” he counters back, rubbing his stomach happily. “See, these parties started when we were little. Ten, I think, when I complained about my birthday being so close to the holidays. So Mum told me to plan a party with Stan, and it was right nerdy. Probably only eight or so guests, board games and pizza, and we were all decked out in these jumpers. They stuck, but thankfully the nerdy part didn’t.”

Harry bunches his nose up. “Cute.”

Louis rolls his eyes and gives Harry the eyebrow. “I gotta go be a host. Please have fun, get proper pissed, and find me if you need something. I’ll be around and probably sneak up on you when you least expect it, but really – find Niall and Liam and them and get your party on.”

Harry stares at him in mock offense. “Did you just say ‘get your party on’? What the hell, Tomlinson?”

“I never said we became _cool_ after the nerdy, Styles,” Louis says with a playful shove. He waves at him and disappears into the growing crowd.

Harry laughs to himself and goes to find his friends like Louis suggested. Niall and Liam are at a beer pong table set up on the back porch, and he joins the game. Once they’re actually drunk, they go back inside and find that the living room has been transformed into a dance floor, teenagers and uni students full-on pissed and grinding on each other. Niall insists on pulling Harry in to dance. It’s fun, and soon he’s sweaty and moving and they have a big dance circle going with Niall in the middle trying his hand at breakdancing. He’s better than expected, especially considering the mental state he’s currently in.

Louis sidles in, a drink in hand and Eleanor beside him, equally drunk and bubbly. They’re both laughing, and while a part of Harry is telling him that’s because they’re pissed and were probably just talking to friends, it still irks him. Also, they look like siblings.

Louis catches Harry’s eye and waves, giving him a thumbs-up, and he returns it. Louis passes his glass to Eleanor and hops into the middle of the circle, dragging Niall up, and starts to dance wildly with him, everyone surrounding them whooping and cheering.

Harry laughs, enjoying the sight of his best friend and boyfriend goofing off (Is that what Louis sees when he saw Stan and Harry joking around last night? He hopes so.) until it suddenly isn’t funny anymore. Because Louis wouldn’t do that with him. And it should make no difference, because as far as the vast majority of the people in this house are concerned, Harry is to Louis what Niall is to Louis, but it does, because after the incident with his mother, it seems that Louis no longer trusts himself to be one hundred percent open with Harry in a friendly manner.

It’s unfortunate, but...again, it is what it is.

“Get a drink with me?” Zayn shouts next to him, tugging on his arm, and Harry is happy to comply. Harry mixes them both something fruity, because the fucking tomato cocktail is still stuck in the back of his throat, and Zayn leans against the table, watching the activity they just left. It’s still a party around them, but at least the music isn’t blaring as loud, so they only have to block out the conversations surrounding them.

“Having fun?” Zayn asks casually.

Harry shrugs.

“If it helps,” he says, still throwing any serious implications off his shoulder, “He’s acting totally normal. In character, if you will.”

“Okay.” It does, a little, he guesses, because that means that Louis isn’t modifying anything for Harry’s sake. Then again…he _isn’t_ modifying anything for Harry’s sake.

Harry is snapped out of his thoughts, though when two party guests sidle up to them and start mixing their own drinks, greeting Zayn.

“Hey, long time no see. How is it, man?” Guy 1, a bloke with dirty blonde hair and green eyes, gives Zayn (who does look a bit reluctant) a hug. Guy 2, who’s fairly tall, more so than Harry, with jet black hair follows suit.

“Good, good,” Zayn greets them. Harry thinks that he spots a slight grimace gracing Zayn’s face. He pauses, then continues, “This is mine and Louis’ mate Harry. Harry, Jacob –” he gestures to Guy 1, “and Derek,” Guy 2. “They’re mates of Louis’ from school here.”

They both nod to Harry, and Jacob leans forward to give him a little push. Clearly, no one in this house is at all sober. “Nice to meet ya, Harry, how d’you know these lads?”

“Um,” Harry clears his throat. “From uni.”

They laugh. Apparently it was funny.

“We put together this karaoke night, for community service and stuff, Harry’s always there to give us a hand,” Zayn jumps in, saving him.

“So you sing?” Derek asks. At least they’re making conversation. “Louis does, if I remember right.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah, we just focus on the behind-the-scenes crap. Harry, though, he’s got a great voice.”

Harry blushes, but that might be the drinks kicking in in full force. “A bit. Louis does, like, host, though, he’s good at it.”

Derek snorts. “You get on well with ‘im?”

Harry shrugs, trying to play off their relationship lightly. “You could say, he’s just a nice friend to have. “Louis is a great person to just like, sit and kind of just admire what he's like.”

Yep. The effects of the alcohol have arrived completely.

“Aww, got a crush?” Derek coos condescendingly. Harry doesn’t like these blokes.

“No,” he spits back. (He doesn’t have a crush, because as far has Harry’s concerned, crushes are one-sided.) “Nice attitude, though.”

“Just having a laugh, c’mon, mate,” Jacob says, slinging an arm around Derek.

“Yeah, well, nice seeing you lot,” Zayn says, grabbing Harry behind his back. “Have a good night.” He pulls Harry back into the party. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs. “For the record, neither Louis nor Stan likes them much. But it’s one of those things, you know, with a party this big…”

“Whatever,” Harry mumbles, downing what’s left of his drink.

“Come on. Dance with us some more.” Zayn yanks him back onto the floor in search of Liam and Niall.

And they do. Harry tries to push all of his drunken annoyances to the back of his mind, blaming all of it on exhaustion, the liquor, what have you, and for the next few hours he parties it up with Zayn, Liam, and Niall, for the most part. Louis stays true to his word and pops in beside them every now and then, and yes, he does give Harry some attention when he can. Harry relishes it, even though it’s less than what he’s used to.

“Having fun?” Louis asks as he’s starting to work his way out of the group for the umpteenth time.

“Loads,” Harry says, and he does mean it for the most part.

“Good!” Louis pats his arm with a bit of force, even squeezing a little. He stealthily eyes Harry up and down. He leans up into Harry’s ear. “Good lad. Nice little body.” And, wow, what the fuck? Alcohol has certainly imparted its effect on Louis as well. He keeps talking. “Maybe just before midnight, when it’s at its thickest, we can sneak off and have an early New Year’s kiss or summat.” He drops back flat on his feet and looks at Harry expectantly.

Harry grins down at him. “Yeah. Yeah, sounds good.”

“Great!” Louis claps his hands together gleefully while he starts looking around the house again. “It looks like more people have arrived – What time is it, Zayn, like past eleven? Late. They’re just here for midnight, like I said. Dumb. – Anyway, I should go say hi.” And he’s off again. Harry can’t help but feel a little sad and frustrated at that. He comes, he’s happy, funny, _himself_ , and then it’s like a switch is turned off. And it’s just…it’s compounded by the fact that despite his little moment of flirtation just now, he’s been treating Harry significantly differently than the rest of the boys throughout the entire night. Not badly, but it’s been off. For the most part, he’s been giving him a wide berth, and he hasn’t danced with him in particular at all, despite the fact that he’s full-on grinded with Niall several times. (It isn’t funny like it was the first time anymore.)

“Smoke?” Zayn asks, snapping him back to real life, and Harry is eternally grateful for his attentiveness tonight.

“Sure.”

They end up following Louis to the door, and there’s such a crowd around the area that they just grab their coats and hang back for a second, watching what’s unfolding and waiting for it to clear.

Louis is greeting those who just walked in the door until a blonde girl pushes past everyone with a warm smile on her face.

“Louis!” she cries loudly and tipsily. “It’s been too long, how’s Manchester, I heard that you –”

And she doesn’t finish her sentence, because Louis immediately starts to back up, a look of actual fear upon his face.

“Hi, hey, hi,” he stutters, before calling loudly, “Eleanor!” He searches around him, grabbing for the brunette girl who pops up after a few seconds.

The blonde one stands there, clearly stilted that she never got her hug.

Harry doesn’t quite get what’s going on.

And then – buggering _fuck_ , Harry thought he’d seen it all – Louis pulls Eleanor into him, grabbing her by the waist _like he does with Harry_ and backs up against the staircase, snogging her. This isn’t the usual peck that they share after a football game. He has his tongue all fucking up in her face.

Harry doesn’t know why but it feels like he’s been lit into with a machine gun. This was – it’s just one of their unspoken _boundaries_ , that Louis doesn’t full-on fucking _snog_ Eleanor, he does the bare physical minimum that he needs to for the relationship to pass. And on top of everything, he’s doing it _in front of Harry._

He steps forward, confused and hurt and unsure of what to do next, but he has to get over there. “Louis…” he starts, unable to verbalize anything else.

Zayn is calling out behind him, “Harry, with me, _now_ ,” and Harry is ignoring him. The blonde girl looks really confused now, almost as much as Harry is, and he accidentally bumps into her.

She turns around. “Sorry, I just –”

Harry thinks she might get it. Because she reads his face like in an instant and turns back to Louis, screeching, “You’ve got to be _fucking kidding me_ , I thought you _fucking grew up_ , you _arsehole_!”

Harry knows who she is now. She’s Louis’ Diana. She’s Hannah.

Zayn cuts between them immediately, Louis still attached to Eleanor’s hip (Jesus Christ, is his hand in her shirt now? Harry is going to retch.), and shouts, “Hannah! It’s Zayn, dunno if we’ve ever met, but come on, I think that Stan’s this way,” and he leaves Harry by himself, dragging Hannah down the hallway, still in a state of shock.

Harry’s alone, but he’s also not. He’s in the middle of a sea of people, watching Louis snog Eleanor. He doesn’t stare closely to see if it looks convincible, or if they’re somehow enjoying it, or something. He looks anywhere but at their faces.

And he snaps. He doesn’t snap violently, or loudly, or in a way that would hurt anyone around him, most importantly Louis. (He remembers Stan’s words from earlier in the evening. “He really fucking loves you.” He doesn’t know how they apply now.)

But he’s done. He’s done, he’s done, he’s done, and he doesn’t wait around to tell anyone. He just pushes his way through the throng of people and out the front door, and knows that he’s leaving. It’s snowing now, of course, snowing hard and thick and coldly. He buttons up his coat, long and black, covering up his outfit, and starts down the front steps.

He walks a few meters down the path until he comes to a standstill, unsure of where to go. He can’t drive, that’s for certain, and he doesn’t have Niall’s keys anyway. He can’t go back to Louis’ house. That’s completely out of the question. He could go sit in a pub for now, at least it’d be warm, but downtown Doncaster is miles and miles away.

He can think of only one place that he might be able to find his way to, somewhere he can sit, away from all of this shit, and think, and figure out his next move, and that’s Hall Cross Academy. He types the name into the Maps app on his phone, fingers growing number by the second.

Okay. It’s a mile away. He can make it.

He walks, and tries not to think. He tries not to think about the back and forth that was all night, Louis deciding to pay attention to him at his leisure. He tries not to think about Louis just fucking grabbing Eleanor and snogging her face off. He does anyway.

It’s frigid, and the snow is starting to pile up, but he gets to the school fairly quickly. Or so it seems, at least. He only has to dodge cars a few times, and only thinks that he’s actually going to get hit once. Although that may be the alcohol talking.

He doesn’t even bother trying the door again, and just drops himself on the front steps. He was thinking of going around to the football pitch in the back, but he doesn’t want to after all because that’s where Louis said nice things that are all rather irrelevant now and that’s where they said that they loved each other and that’s where they snogged full and well and wonderfully, but Louis’ doing that with Eleanor now, so it doesn’t mean all that much, does it?

Oh, Harry’s an idiot. He knows that Louis isn’t snogging Eleanor because he wants to. He probably wants to retch just like Harry does. Harry hopes that he’s vomiting in Stan’s toilet right now, actually. He snogged Eleanor because he was face-to-face with his ex-girlfriend who knows that he’s gay and who then ran into his boyfriend.

Apparently Hannah thought he was out to the world and then she went off on him when she realized that he wasn’t and was still stringing people along. Just people who aren’t her anymore.

Harry is cold. He wants someone to warm him up. But he can’t call anyone back at the party, because Louis would probably come with them and apologize to him and kiss him and tell him that he loves him. Louis tends to do that. He tends to wait until he fucks up to try and make things right. Harry isn’t in the mood for that.

Who will fucking keep him warm now?

After a few minutes of What the Fuck Do I Do, he remembers Gemma’s words to him from last week. She’s only thirty minutes away. Less, maybe, if she goes a little fast. So he calls her, and she picks up on the fifth ring, and it’s really, really loud in the background.

“Harry?” she yells. “Happy New Year!”

“What?” He takes the phone off his ear for a second and looks at the time. Oh. It’s 12:01. Happy fucking New Year to him, indeed.

“Gemma –” he says, but she cuts him off immediately.

“Are you okay? You don’t sound good.”

“ _Gemma_ ,” he says again, rocking back and forth on the steps this time, ready to cry at her concerned voice coming through the phone.

“What do you need? Do you need me?”

He starts sobbing and tries to form a coherent sentence. “You’re – drinking, right?”

“No, no, Harry, I’m the designated, I can come get you right now. Where are you? What happened?”

He hiccups loudly and rubs at his eyes with his free hand. “Hall Cross Academy,” he says, avoiding the second question. “Just, like, plug it in your phone.”

“Why the fuck are you at a school?” she asks, but he feels everything he drank at the party coming up and he ends the call before leaning over the side of the steps and into the snow-covered bushes to puke.

Gemma arrives within twenty-five minutes – he knows because he looks at his phone when she pulls up and it’s 12:26 – and before he can get up to go to her she jumps out of her car and runs up to him.

“What the hell is going on, Harry? What are you doing here? How drunk are you, why are you alone?”

He holds out his hands as if to shut her up and shield himself from her, but she just grabs his wrists and leans in closer. “You vomited.” He must stink really badly, then. “Do you feel better than when you called?”

He nods mutely.

“You’re freezing, let me get you in the car.”

He stands up, legs wobbly, and she holds him closely by the waist. She helps him into the passenger seat and straps him in before crossing back over to the other side. She starts the car again and immediately turns the heat up, wriggling out of her coat. “Lay this over your body,” she instructs, passing it to him.

He does so, too tired and sad to protest anything.

“I’m going to take you to my flat,” she says matter-of-factly as she pulls back onto the road. “Because it’s late and you need to sleep and sober up. I’ll drive you wherever you want tomorrow morning.”

“Home,” he croaks, leaning back in his seat.

She looks over at him. “All right. D’you want to tell me why you’re going home?”

He shakes his head, but answers her after a moment anyway. “I broke,” he says, the tears returning. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

And that’s the last he remembers before his head hits the car door softly and he passes out.

*

“Mum, he’s right here. He’s in my bed, for crying out loud, I took the couch, I’m taking care of him. I don’t know. I don’t know any of that. He passed out two minutes into the drive, I barely got to talk to him. Okay – wait, I think he’s awake, he’s moving. Okay. I’ll see you at home.”

Harry wonders why he’s dreaming about a girl who sounds like Gemma talking to her mother. He also wonders why he has what’s possibly the worst hangover of his entire life, and why he’s in a completely unfamiliar bed, and most importantly, why the fucking sun is shining right in his eyes.

Right now, Harry hates the sun, and he can’t remember why he feels that way, either.

Someone moves in front of him and closes the blinds, and finally, he can start to think again. The same person places a glass of water and some paracetamol on the nightstand before rudely moving his legs to the side and sitting on the bed next him.

“’Oo are you?” he drawls, reaching out for the water and missing.

“Holy fuck you were wasted,” the person says, and yeah, she’s really starting to sound like Gemma now. She hands him the water, urging him to sit up, and when she does, he realizes that she is Gemma.

He takes the water and drinks half the glass, looking at his sister, who seems rather tired, and then around the room. Oh. This is her room. He’s in Gemma’s bed, completely hungover, and faced with a worried sister.

She hands him the pills and he downs them with the rest of the water.

“Do you remember any of last night?”

He blinks and holds a finger up as if to say, _Let me think_.

He thinks.

Oh. Last night was New Year’s – the party. Shit, the party. He did get really wasted there. He remembers dancing, with all his friends, and getting really mad that Louis kept darting in and out of their group, and then going out for a smoke with Zayn.

Except they never got to smoke. Because now he remembers seeing a flash of a blonde girl, and then all of a sudden images of Louis snogging Eleanor are splashed across his eyelids, and he can’t escape them, and now he feels really cold again, and he remembers walking alone down a street with cars and lights and horns, and he remembers showing up at Louis’ school because he had nowhere else to go.

Then he remembers puking in the bushes, and that’s it.

He groans and lays back down.

Gemma rubs his belly, making soothing noises. “Shh, Harry, just tell me what happened. I’m not mad, or anything, I’m really happy you called me, and so is Mum. That was the right thing to do.”

God, he hates it when she gets like this. When something goes wrong and she starts talking to him like a fucking baby.

“Just tell me what happened.”

“What did I tell you in the car?” He refuses to sit up.

“You passed out pretty quickly, then I had to pull over and make sure you were just, you know, asleep and not choking on vomit or anything.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was – I didn’t mean to –”

“Nah.” She brushes him off, and he knows that he’ll be eternally grateful for it, considering how he basically ruined her New Year’s and made her drive out somewhere totally unknown to pick up her wasted and crying brother. “We all have our moments, and this is your first, so I’m calling it a win, for the most part. Did you know that a year or two ago I was in Manchester, got separated from my friends and was super drunk, probably worse than you, and Robin had to come get me?”

Well, that’s quite bad. “I don’t remember that.”

She laughs. “I think they tried to keep it from you. In the car, though, all you said was something like you were broken and couldn’t take it. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds really scary.”

He nods, and the tears start to come back. “It wasn’t like I thought it would be.”

“What wasn’t?”

“The party. He was all…different, but not, just really flip-floppy. He treated me really differently than Zayn or Niall or Liam. Like, it was an obvious difference, not just bro-pal-mate sort of thing. I know that was probably because he was drunk, and he was trying to figure out how to juggle it, but it really fucking hurt Gemma, it really hurt.”

She nods, squeezing his shoulder. He doesn’t pull away this time.

“And if that’s all it was, I could’ve dealt with it. I could have. We’d talked it out a little, a few days before, and he, like, understood where I was coming from when I said I was frustrated. But then – his mum kind of picked up on it. I overheard them talking, and she, like, outright suggested that he got on better with me than with her, and it all went downhill from there.”

He stops, breathing deeply, and his chest starts to shake. “You guys were right. At home. I should’ve listened to you.”

“Harry, nothing is your fault, finish with the story,” she urges.

“His ex showed up. Ex-girlfriend. She’s, like, one of two people from Doncaster that he’s out to. He, uh, when he saw her, he kind of freaked out. Because it was clear she thought he was out to everyone. And so – so he just grabbed Eleanor, and started snogging her. Complete and full-on making out.” He stops, squeezing his eyes shut. “That wasn’t cool, Gemma, and I don’t know if he saw me, but I was right there. He’s not supposed to _do_ that. Then I think…I think I tried to walk over to him, but I bumped into Hannah, his ex, and she kind of picked up on what was happening. So she turned on him. And then Zayn just dove right in between the two of them and dragged Hannah off. I was with him. He left me alone. And Louis was still glued to Eleanor. So I left.”

He rolls over onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow and trying to stem the flow of tears and also his ginormous migraine.

She doesn’t say anything for a minute and just moves her hand to his back and rubs into it.

“I don’t think I can go back,” he mumbles from the pillow.

“What?”

He reluctantly rolls over again, sitting up this time to face her. “I don’t think I can go back,” he repeats.

“You don’t have to.”

“But…” He tries to verbalize what he’s feeling, and as he works through the words in his mind, he realizes that this is probably it. Whatever he decides to do now will dictate how the rest of his foreseeable future turns out. “But if I don’t go back, then I think we’re done.”

She pushes his hair out of his face, smiling sadly. “That’s okay. It’s okay to stop and say – ‘I can’t do this anymore.’”

“Do you think that I’m right, to think that way?”

“First of all, Harry, in a situation like this, where it sucks for everyone, you don’t have to be _right_. That’s beside the point. You have to do what’s _right for you_ , trust me, I’ve learned that the hard way a few times. But based on what you just told me? You aren’t in the wrong at all. If he crossed a boundary like he did, and made you feel unwelcome at his party on top of that, then you are definitely in the clear to say so and end things.”

Harry blinks. “We went through so much shit, though, we both fucked up a few times, so to end it over this? It just doesn’t seem…” He can’t finish.

She sighs and scoots further onto the bed, grabbing both of his hands and holding them tightly. “Harry, I’m no relationship expert by any means, but I’m trying here. You have to draw the line somewhere. You have to. I don’t think you’re in a good place right now. I know that you insisted it was okay for you, the setup you had going on, but I really, really think that being in the closet is unhealthy for you. For both of you, I’m sure, but you can only take responsibility for yourself.”

He shakes his head. “Like I said, I fucked up too, you know. I tried going for full-on straight guy a few months ago, but it backfired, because I ended up being a fucking arse and lying to the girl. I led her on. Then Louis got mad, and he was right to, but he stayed. So shouldn’t I…?”

“For one, that’s gross, but it looks like you realize that and I’m not going to beat you up about it while you’re already down. He stayed, but that was his choice and he decided that he could deal with the repercussions of what happened. You don’t have to make that same choice, Harry.”

“But I love him. And – he does too, I know he does. His heart is there. I can’t do this to him.”

“Alright, Harry, look at it this way – I drive you back to Doncaster and you go spend the next two days, or however long your trip was planned, at his house, after he takes you somewhere away from his family and apologizes again and kisses you and everything is ‘okay.’ But it won’t change. Or, you could tell him that you need a bit of space and that you’ll see him back in Manchester. You meet up later in the month and he apologizes again and kisses you and everything is ‘okay.’ But, again, these things will just keep happening. As long as he’s in the closet, you’re going to deal with more shitty things. Or, I take you home and you let him know that you’ve reached your limit. Only then will things change. It’s your choice, but I’m pretty damn sure that’s how it would go.

“Also…again, Harry, you aren’t fully responsible for his feelings. You can only control what’s in your hands, and his behavior isn’t. So if it’s his behavior that fucked you over, then sucks for him. That’s blunt, but it’s how it is. By taking control of _your own heart_ , you’re not _doing_ anything to him. He did it on his own. That doesn’t necessarily make him a bad person, but it does mean that he has to deal with the consequences for his actions.”

Harry blinks, trying to clear the tears out of his eyes so that he can see straight. He looks away from his sister and out the window, where the sun is shining bright as ever.

He’s never going to be able to look at the sun without thinking of Louis again, he realizes.

He thinks about that for a few minutes. And when it sinks in, when the enormity of what just crossed his mind finally sinks in, he _knows_.

“I want him,” he whispers. “But I don’t want this.” He folds his hands in his lap and looks back at Gemma, with what feels like a sort of finality.

She pulls him into a hug. “And that’s okay.”

He laughs shakily, still crying, when she pulls away. “Thank you, Gemma. Thank you so much. For picking me up, for not hating me, for talking me through this, for everything. You’re probably the best sister out there.”

She stands up, fishing around her room for something. “Meh, I could never hate you, Haz. Not for something like this. For all the crazy shit you did to me as a kid? Yeah, but not this. And just _probably_? No, I am _definitely_ the best sister out there.”

He smiles, but winces. Even now, her attitude is reminding him of Louis. (For something to remind him of Louis in this manner is all rather odd. As if he were a figure in Harry’s past instead of someone within arm’s reach, literally or figuratively.)

“This is a thing, you know,” he says, thinking back to the first few weeks that he knew Louis. (Again…the past.) “When he fucks up at night and other people have to clean his shit up for him in the morning.” He feels like he’s betraying Louis, or what Louis was, somehow, by criticizing him, but he wants to feel the anger at least a little. He wants to make the hurt tolerable by justifying his feelings.

She nods without saying anything one way or another and passes him a phone charger. “Yours is dead, I think, it wouldn’t turn on when I checked this morning. It’s on the nightstand. I’m going to go make some food for before we leave, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.” He plugs the phone into the wall and stands up to use the toilet. He’s dizzy, and his head starts throbbing even harder when he starts to walk, but he needs to move. He feels heavier than usual, like there’s something weighing on him that he can’t shake off.

Well, yeah, he figures. He and Louis aren’t together anymore. Louis is in his past. And fuck, a shock of pain goes right through his heart. He wants to run back into Gemma’s bed and never get out.

That’s what he does, once he takes a wee and washes his hands while refusing to look in the mirror. He runs back into bed and burrows under the covers while he still can, before she forces him into the car and back to Holmes Chapel.

He isn’t left in peace for long, though. His phone starts buzzing like crazy, voicemail ringtones coming in and text messages arriving left and right. He’s afraid to touch it, actually, because for a solid five minutes, it doesn’t stop. It’s scary. Harry has dealt with enough scary today.

After it settles down for a few minutes he tentatively reaches his hand out and snatches it, leaning over so that it stays plugged in. He hits the home button, and – Jesus Christ – he has seventy-five text messages, twenty voicemails, and forty missed calls. He stares at it for a bit. It’s _very_ scary. They’re from Zayn, Niall, Liam, _Louis_ , and a few unknown numbers. Everyone was calling him, all night, it seems, and he doesn’t know why.

Until he reads some of the messages, refusing to touch the voicemails for now.

_Niall Horan_

_WHERE ARE YOU_

_Liam Payne_

_WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU_

_Zayn Malik_

_I don’t know if you’re mad or if you ran away or WHATEVER but PLEASE tell us WHERE YOU ARE_

_Niall Horan_

_IS YOUR PHONE DEAD? CAN YOU JUST LET US KNOW IF YOU’RE WITH SOMEONE?_

_Liam Payne_

_I swear Louis is going to call the fucking cops if you don’t show some sign of life in the next ten minutes._

_Louis the Tommo_

_HARRY WHERE ARE YOU_

_Louis the Tommo_

_HARRY PLEASE TALK TO US I’M REALLY FUCKING SCARED_

_Louis the Tommo_

_I don’t know what happened, if you’re mad about something or don’t want to talk to me, that’s okay, just PLEASE PICK UP FOR SOMEONE!_

_Zayn Malik_

_Where did you go???? Who are you with???_

_Liam Payne_

_Harry, we don’t have any way to contact your family, when you see this, please please please let someone know that you’re safe._

…And so forth. Harry truly does feel awful now, because he had been so preoccupied with his state of mind and his own worries that he had completely forgotten that he hadn’t told anyone where he went, or that he had left at all. He really hopes that they didn’t get the cops involved.

He obviously needs to call one of them, so he picks Niall, because besides Louis, that’s the name at the top of his Recents list, and he isn’t about to dial Louis up right now.

He picks up before the first ring is through and Harry can’t get a word in at first.

“Are you safe?!” Niall shouts into the phone.

“Yes, Niall, I’m –” He’s cut off immediately.

“Where the fuck are you?” he screams, letting into him right away. “The fuck did you go, you weren’t fucking anywhere, we drove everywhere, we don’t have any way to contact your fucking family! Louis even went to the fucking football field and you weren’t fucking there! Harry, you arsehole, we were about to call the police when you rang, because you still hadn’t shown up! What the fuck is your problem?!”

Harry waits in silence for Niall to finish.

“Are you going to fucking speak?!”

Oh. Well, it seems that he’s done. “I’m at Gemma’s, Niall.”

Harry hears him yell, “He’s with his sister!” to whoever is waiting around him. Probably everyone, Harry realizes. “Can you explain what happened?”

Harry starts to, but he’s interrupted again.

“I’m sorry for yelling. You really scared us, Harry, we were looking for hours last night and had no idea what was happening.”

“’M sorry,” Harry croaks. “I just – I had to leave. I should’ve told someone, but I had to get out.” He can hear Louis fretting and snapping at people in the background. He doesn’t want to.

“What happened?”

“It was – Zayn knows, I think.”

“D’you want me to put him on?”

“Yes please.”

“Zayn!” Niall yells. “Take this.”

“Harry.” Zayn’s calm and soothing voice comes through the receiver. Harry is incredibly thankful that he isn’t yelling like Niall was.

“Hi Zayn.”

“Harry, what happened?”

“It was – it was when Hannah showed up. You remember that?”

“Shit, fuck, Harry – I was worried that was it. I’m sorry. I lost track of you. I just – I had to make a decision, who to go to, who to distract, who to protect, in the heat of the moment, and I was focused on making sure she didn’t say anything. I tried to go back and find you after, but I couldn’t, so I just assumed you went off somewhere else. It wasn’t until later, when no one could find you at all, that I realized…”

Harry shudders. Of course – Zayn had to choose to go to in that moment, and he chose to protect Louis. He is Louis’ best mate, after all. It makes sense. “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault. I chose to leave.”

He doesn’t really want to talk to them anymore, though. He’s ready to burrow back in bed while he still can, especially since he hears Louis still being persistent in the background, saying things like, “Put me on,” “Just let me talk to him,” and “Pass the fucking phone, Malik!”

“I need to talk to Liam,” is all he says.

The phone switches, and Liam says, “Fucking A, Harry, you gave us all a million heart attacks last night. What do you need?”

“Listen, I need you to do me a favor. Can you take my things back to Manchester for me when you go?”

“Wait, you’re not coming back?”

“No. I’m going home today. Just please, my duffel that’s at his – that’s there, just take it back to our room whenever you get back, if it’s not too much trouble.”

He hears Liam sigh heavily. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Liam. I’ll see you on the eleventh or twelfth. Now, I’m sorry, but I have to go –”

“No, wait!” he says, and he mumbles something in the back that Harry can’t quite make out. “Louis wants to talk to you.”

Harry gulps and shakes his head forcefully, even though the gesture does no good. “I don’t want to. I can’t.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Yes. See you, Liam.”

He hangs up, and there’s a sense of finality behind the action. He feels bad, a little, leaving Louis hanging like that, but he absolutely cannot talk to him right now. He would break down again, lose his resolve, and he doesn’t want that. He can’t have that.

Louis is okay. Or Louis will be okay, at least. He’s surrounded by everyone and their mother right now. It’s Harry who’s alone, Harry who’s taking the ride of shame back to his house, Harry who’s left to pick up the pieces of the life that he cast aside for Louis’ sake. He’ll make it through, though. He’ll call Jonny and get drunk and high and eat ice cream. He’ll do what he was planning to and text Will and make things right with him. He’ll have some of his shit in order by the end of the next ten or so days when he has to go back to Manchester.

He’s just saying that, of course. If there’s one thing that he actually wants right now, it’s Louis, Louis’ arms around him, Louis’ soothing voice in his ear.

But he can’t have that.

Louis is a part of his past now. He looks down, picking at his nails, and notices the fucking coat hanger tattoo. That’s a part of his past now, too. He has the tattoo to wear as a badge of _never again._ He’s never going to do something to himself as absurd as what he did for Louis was this past term. Because nothing is worth being left to drunkenly walk cold, snowy, and _dark_ roads in a foreign town on New Year’s Eve.

Not even Louis. Not even, ironically enough, the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. D:


	20. It Only Makes It Worse to Live Without It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone, for the response to the last chapter! It's much appreciated. This is coming out a day later than I'd hoped, but I spent a day writing Louis' perspective from New Year's on, just to get everything clear for my own purposes. I do like it, though, so if that's something anyone is interested in reading I could post it once everything is said and done.
> 
> Also, I'm hoping to get one more chapter out this week, and then it might be a little longer before the next update, BECAUSE from Thurs-Sat I am taking a grand and holy pilgrimage to a wonderful place called Foxborough, MA. :DDDDDD And I can't take my laptop, so I won't have time to work on it for a few days. (But that's better, because the end is near, so it won't hurt to stretch it out a bit...)
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Harry arrives back in Holmes Chapel to open arms from his mother, and it’s all he can take not to burst out crying again. Not that he ever stopped, really. And he hates it. He hates that a part of him is so steeled, reserved, insistent upon this being the proper next step, and yet another is falling apart every five seconds.

To be honest, he still feels weak. Like he couldn’t take it, and the failing is his own.

Gemma hangs around until after dinner, when she takes back off to Sheffield. It’s just him, his mother, Robin, and Dusty now.

“Call Jonny up, please, Harry,” Anne urges as she walks in on him in front of the telly in the living room. “Go to his place, have him come here, for God’s sake, don’t mope about for the rest of your holiday.”

“I just got back,” he snaps. “Let me wallow, Mum.” It’s not just the breakup that has him upset. To be completely honest, he’s still rather hungover, and the last few days have been full of ups and downs overall. He _deserves_ to ‘mope about.’

“Fine,” she says, with an air of defeat. She disappears and comes back a few seconds later, plopping Dusty into his lap. “Have a cat, at least.”

And, well. Cats are good.

Jonny shows up at his doorstep and three in the afternoon the next day, a bottle of Jack Daniels, two pints of Ben and Jerry’s, and a handful of stupid, mindless comedies in tow. Gemma must have called him. Anne smiles knowingly as she steps out for the afternoon and eyes the brown paper bag suspiciously for posterity’s sake.

So far, at least, no one has said “I told you so” to him, which he appreciates more than anything.

“What did I _do_???” he wails, once the ice cream is half-gone, the liquor sufficiently dug into, and Adam Sandler blabbers on the television. “I did everything he fucking asked!”

Jonny pats his knee gently. “It sounds like he kept asking.”

“No, he didn’t fucking ask, he just went and did it all and would tell me after the fact.” Harry shoves another spoonful of Phish Food into his mouth. “But why??? Why me?”

Jonny sighs. “I dunno. Keep crying, get it out of your system.”

“I’m not –” Harry wipes at his eyes. “Crying. I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl, J.”

“Yes you are. Crying, that is. Own it. Let it out. Look at it like this – if you get all your sappy, tragic shit out of the way now then you can go back to Manchester with your head held high and you’ll look all the better to it for everyone.”

“Who’s _everyone_?” Harry blurts out, tipping the liquor bottle down his throat. “Like five fucking people knew! It’s like it never happened to most of the school!”

“I thought you mentioned that the footie team knew,” Jonny points out. “So them plus five.”

“True. Better. He’ll come back like all shit and they’ll know he fucked it up. Most of them liked me, you know.”

“I’m sure they did.” Jonny pats him again.

“And,” Harry slurs, “what’re our friends gonna do? I mean if Liam and Niall, like, ‘pick’ him over me, well, fucking fuck them. Guess I can’t see Zayn anymore. He chose him, in the moment, you know?”

“But you said earlier that he apologized for that,” Jonny points out. “Harry, your friends aren’t gonna ditch you because you and he split. If they do, they were shitty friends from the start, but they won’t.”

Harry points at him accusingly. “You don’t know that.”

Jonny just laughs. “I’m going to take the bottle away, I think.” He snatches it from Harry despite the grabby hands he’s making. “Also, your mum said that this is the only time I’m allowed to supply you with alcohol for the rest of holiday. She said you get one proper drunken cry-out, but that she can’t have you turning into an alcoholic in your own home.”

Harry pouts. Jonny hands him the ice cream container again.

“Call them, if you need to. They won’t fault you for needing some reassurance. But do it sober, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry burrows back into the fortress of blankets they built on the couch to ride out the rest of this crap film.

It turns out that that one drunken cry-out is all he needed, pain-numbing wise. When he wakes up the next afternoon he’s more than happy to lie in bed and ride it out. He figures that the sooner he feels it all, the sooner it will get out of his system. Or that’s what he hopes, at least.

Unfortunately, around six in the evening, his mother makes him get out of bed to eat dinner with her and Robin. He refuses to talk any more than giving them a few one-liners, but the food does taste good at least. When he goes back up to his room – because, yes, that’s where he immediately heads to once his mother is satisfied with his contribution to cleanup – he has a missed call from Niall.

At least they’re acknowledging his presence? He calls him back.

“Harry!” Niall greets with a little too much enthusiasm, even for Niall.

“Hi,” he says, lying back on his bed and kicking into the comforter.

“Um. How are you?”

Harry grunts. “In bed.”

“I asked how you are, not where you are.”

“Consider it an answer for both.” He thinks about rummaging around for his headphones so he can plug them in and not have to hold his phone, just roll back into his pillow, but then he’d have to sit up again, so it’s a no.

“Anyway. I just got back into Mullingar. I wanted to cancel my ticket and just, like, come by yours, but I checked with the airline and they wouldn’t have refunded me. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, but he’s secretly grateful. He doesn’t think that he’d be able to deal with ten straight days of Niall cooped up with him in his house. Jonny is bad enough, with his in and out visits, and he’s much more of a Liam, temperamentally, than a Niall. “Thanks for thinking of it.”

“Of course. You’re my best mate, Harry. When we get back to Manchester, tell me what you want, with like, going out and doing things and stuff, and Liam and I’ll work it out.”

So Liam’s on his side, too. That’s good to know. (Although considering their living situation, it would have been awkward if he wasn’t…) “We’ll see. We have exams and stuff.” Harry hadn’t actually thought about exams until just then. He still has to revise for them. He’s going to fucking fail.

“One time before they all start won’t hurt anyone, it’ll do some good. And after, of course.”

Harry doesn’t really feel like talking any more. And on top of that, he’s all anxious for school now, too, so he might crack open a textbook or at least his notes. It’s only seven and he woke up at three. “Listen, Niall, thanks for calling, but I have to go.”

“Go where? Back to sleep?”

“ _No_ ,” he says pointedly. “Gonna revise some, I think.”

Niall pauses and then sighs. “Okay. If you do that, that’s good. Send me a picture of it or summat so I can be sure that’s what you’re doing.”

“You’re not my babysitter or my mum, Niall.”

“No, but I feel like it sometimes. One more thing.”

“Yeah. What?”

“You should just know that the only reason you’re being let off the hook for bailing on us like that is because you were super piss drunk and we should have recognized you were gone earlier than we did. Don’t do that again. It scared the fucking shit out of everyone. You could have been dead in a dumpster or run over on the road or whatever. At least leave a note next time.”

Harry groans. “There isn’t going to be a next time, Niall.”

“I don’t mean like that. I mean the next time you have to bail on a party for whatever reason.”

He huffs. “Fine.”

“One more thing.”

“You already said that.” He just wants to hang up already, occupy his mind with something else, something completely unrelated to his life outside of Holmes Chapel.

“I’m saying it again. Now, hear me out.”

He groans once more. “Where is this going?”

“I’m not asking you to do anything big. Just, please, consider it. Harry…he’s really torn up. If you’re going to end it, text him, please, give him _something_ to latch onto for closure, I know he might not deserve it right now, but I’m begging you.”

Harry considers throwing his phone against the wall, but he doesn’t want to crack it a second time. Instead, he says, “This doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d say. It sounds like it’s coming from Zayn.”

“Meh. We all talked it over, Zayn, Liam, me. It’s a bit of all of us. Harry, will you? Just text him, it can be like two words, like ‘I’m done,’ just so he knows, and then if you want you can delete his contact from your phone and never have anything to do with him again.”

“I’ll…think about it.”

Niall sighs loudly on the other end. “Fine. Okay. Text me that picture of your notes and shit. Call me if you need something. Love you, Harry.”

“Love you, Niall,” he mumbles, and he does mean it. He just doesn’t like those words all that much right now.

He doesn’t text Louis right away. He gets his sociology book out and rereads all of the chapter summaries until ten. It’s good, the escape, and when he finishes with that he isn’t as anxious about failing the course anymore. Maybe he’ll just do this for the rest of the break. Maybe he can pull off some decently high marks after all.

He remembers Niall’s request and takes a picture of the textbook, captioning it, _Ten summaries read, be proud._

He gets a response fairly quickly, a picture of him with a bleary-eyed but bright grin.

_Niall Horan_

_GOOD! Now go to sleep at a normal time and that’s another step done._

Okay, Harry might like this encouragement a bit after all.

He gets up to use the toilet and brush his teeth, and when he climbs back into bed he’s filled with a surge of determination. Honestly, he hadn’t even thought about how he hadn’t officially “ended” his relationship with Louis until Niall mentioned it. He figured that his leaving, not coming back, and refusing to talk to him had been message enough.

But if it’s closure Louis wants, it’s closure that Harry can give him.

He opens up his Messages app and goes to Louis’ name. He squints his eyes, keeping them only open enough to type, because he doesn’t want to get a glimpse of any of the texts from the previous night or any he may have sent since.

_I_ _can’t do this anymore._

It’s all that he can bear to say. Hopefully it’s all that needs to be said. He presses send before he can change his mind, and once it goes through he turns his phone off and shoves it in his nightstand drawer. He clicks the light off and falls asleep.

He manages to wake up at noon the next day, although that’s probably by virtue of going to bed so early the night before. That was probably Niall’s plan, he realizes, and maybe in, like, three or four months he’ll thank him for it. Not today, though, he’s too smug for that.

He doesn’t take a shower, but he does change his pants for the first time in two days. He turns on his phone without thinking and the first notification in is a message from Louis.

He doesn’t want to read it. He can’t read it. But it’s right there, and he has to read it, has to see what he had to say, if he understood the message, if he’s begging for forgiveness, playing dumb, whatever it is. So he loses his resolve, and opens the text.

_Louis the Tommo_

_Okay. I’m so sorry._

And…that’s that.

They’re done. Officially, one hundred percent, done. Louis didn’t even try, didn’t even put up a fight, and Harry isn’t sure how to feel about that. Maybe everything that happened, that Harry wasn’t there to see, once they realized that he was missing on New Year’s was Louis’ fight. Maybe his insistence on not believing it was over until Harry said so was his fight. Harry will never know, though, because he realizes that the past two texts mark the last time he’ll have any interaction with Louis about their relationship for a long, long while, if ever again. He can’t delete his contact yet, though. He can’t do that. It would give that final slam of finality not to his relationship with Louis, even, but to Louis’ presence in his life.

He thinks that maybe he should delete their conversation thread at least, so he isn’t tempted to go back and read about happier times later on. He can’t do that either, for now, so he just turns his phone off again and takes his economics textbook downstairs to start on while he fixes breakfast.

*

And that’s how it goes. Harry sleeps, eats, and studies, for most of the time. He usually sees Jonny at least once a day, and they’ll do their revising together or watch TV. Overall, it’s a very normal break and he feels almost like he’s back in secondary school.

You know, if he didn’t feel like there was a giant hole in his heart as well.

For the most part, though, time blends together and passes rather quickly.

He does patch things up with Will and the others, and once he explains everything to them they’re more than understanding. It’s hard, and very humbling, but he’s happy to have them back.

The day before he goes back to Manchester he and Jonny head to the town’s tattoo parlor. Jonny is getting his first piece, and Harry is…adding on to one of his. The thought of the finality of it all makes him a little sick, but staring down at it every day makes him sicker, to be honest. It’s just that he sees the outline of the star every time he looks down at his arm and he can’t help but feel a pang at it. That was Louis’ favorite place to put his lips. Some of Harry’s favorite memories of them in bed together involve him lying on his back and Louis just hovering over him, pressing and kissing and licking and biting at that spot of skin. So to see it all the time, just pale and blank, is really fucking upsetting. Yeah, it hasn’t been marked up in a few weeks, since he left Manchester, but there’s a different sort of thought behind it now that Louis won’t be touching it again.

He doesn’t really want anyone else to do so either, so to ensure that, he’s getting it filled in. It’ll be all black now, so still the same concept in theory, a star on his arm, but hopefully it won’t be such a painful, daily reminder of his failed relationship.

If anything, he’s just living his life on his sleeve again.

It’s still a little sore when he gets in the car with his mother on the twelfth to head back to school. She’s still crying just like she was when they left to take him in September.

“Why are you upset?” he asks monotonously. Forgive him if he can’t drum up enthusiasm to be going back to where he’ll get reminders of Louis on the daily.

“I’m always going to be upset when you leave again – it’ll be like that for the rest of your life, love, get used to it. It’s my job as a mother. We loved having you back, Harry.”

“Okay. I guess. Love you, Mum.”

The drive is quiet. After a while, Anne speaks again. “I just want you to know that if this is too difficult for you, or if you’re uncomfortable there, you can stay home this term. We’ll find you another car. It’s not an impossible drive to make every day, several students do it.”

At that, he rolls his eyes and turns to face the window. That might be the most absurd thing he’s heard from his mother yet, and that’s saying a lot considering the past ten days. “No, Mum. I’m a big boy, it’s fine.” If he didn’t move back home when he was a new student and going through all that shit with Jeff, he certainly isn’t going to do so for Louis.

“Okay. It was a suggestion. Can you promise me something, though, Harry?”

“What?” He hopes it doesn’t sound unkind. He doesn’t mean to sound unkind. He’s just been having difficulty drumming up an ability to care about much lately. He goes through the motions, and he’s quite proud of himself for what he accomplished over the rest of his holiday, particularly regarding his studies, but it’s all a bit vague inside. He may or may not feel like an emotional failure for not being able to handle everything Louis and the closet threw at him.

“Broaden yourself. Have some fun. Get some hobbies. I know that your friend group was all rather close with each other.”

“Jeez, Mum, they’re still my friends. Liam and Niall.” He’d like to hope that Zayn is a friend, but he doesn’t really know. Maybe it’s the sort of thing where they’ll hang out in a group, because he knows that he’s still close with Liam. But Zayn made it clear that Louis will always come first, however much he cares about Harry. “And I have hobbies, I have kara –” Well. Oh. He won’t be going back to that, he realizes. “Yeah, I’ll find something,” he says to appease her.

“Good. These are supposed to be the best years of your life, and although it hurts, realize that breakups happen.”

“Okay,” he says flatly, not really wanting to continue the conversation. He knows that his mother is just trying to help, but the more he talks about it the more he feels that dull thud in his chest start up again.

All he really wants right now is to go out and get wasted tonight before exams start out for everyone on Monday.

They get back to the university quickly enough and Harry refuses help from his mother with getting his bags back inside. He hugs her in the car park, promising that he’ll call home if he needs anything and that he’ll visit this term for sure.

“Let me know when you get back?” he asks as he starts toward the entrance to his building.

“I will. Bye, love.” She gets back in the car, wiping her eyes, and he gives her a final wave before going inside and heading downstairs to his and Liam’s room.

He takes a breath and steadies himself before he opens the door, knowing that Liam is probably already back and that it’ll be the first time he sees any of them since New Year’s Eve. He can do this. He might still feel dead inside, but he took a bunch of positive steps when running on autopilot during break, and he can do this now.

So he opens the door, and finds Liam and Niall sitting on the floor, playing FIFA. He walks in casually, throwing his bags by his bed, unsure how they’re going to react.

They click the television off and jump up the moment they realize he’s come in, mobbing him with hugs.

“Harry, we missed you!” Liam says, patting him roughly on the back.

“You look good, Harry,” Niall says, giving his arm a squeeze.

He jumps back, the star stinging. “Hi,” he says. “Sorry. My arm.”

“What, you got inked? Or in a fight?” Liam asks, stepping back to take a look.

Harry shrugs and holds his arm out, rolling up the sleeve of his jumper, hoping that they don’t pick up on his reasoning. “The first.”

They both smile and nod rather awkwardly once they see it, and yes, he’s pretty sure that they pick up on the why. He’s had far too many morning afters of stumbling home with a marked up arm and they’ve seen in person Louis attaching himself there one too many times.

“Looks good,” is all Niall says, and he moves to flop on the edge of Harry’s bed. “So. What’re we doing? One more night of freedom before the shitfest known as exam period starts.”

For that, Harry is grateful.

They don’t mention Louis at all that night. Liam looks like he wants to, at some points, but obvious glares from Niall that even Harry picks up on seem to shut him up. They get back to their room around three, and thankfully Liam is too sloshed to try and start a drunken conversation about any of it.

Harry continues. That’s really the way to describe it, he thinks, as continuing. There’s still that dull ache in his chest, but it lessens the tiniest bit by the day. He doesn’t have any exams on Monday, so he’s in his room revising a bit when Liam comes in. He sets his backpack down and changes shirts, looking like he’s getting ready to go out.

“Um, Harry?”

“Yeah?” He looks up from his sociology book – he has that exam tomorrow, his first – to see a rather nervous Liam looking back at him.

“Uh, Niall and I, we’re going to hang out with Zayn. Did you want to come? He just texted about it a few minutes ago, you’re invited, but he told me to ask you.”

Harry frowns and looks back at his book. “I have sociology tomorrow. Where are you going?”

“His flat.”

“Yeah, ‘m gonna stay here. Thanks.” He almost feels offended that they asked him, even though it’s obvious they’re all trying to keep him included and not make things awkward.

“He’s not there right now, if that changes anything.”

No, of course it doesn’t fucking change anything. Harry can’t go back there. Not back where they laughed and talked and cuddled and kissed and fucked and _made pancakes_. He doesn’t think that he’s ever going to go back there. “I have an exam,” is what he says. “Um, yeah,” he tacks on after a minute of silence on Liam’s end.

And it’s a bit awkward.

“Have a nice night, Harry,” Liam says as he leaves.

He doesn’t. He has another blank night, where he just takes in the information that his textbook and notes spit out at him, and he goes to bed around midnight.

When he wakes up, Liam is gone, most likely in one of his own exams, and there’s a jumper of Harry’s folded and on his bed. He inspects it and realizes that it’s one he brought with him to Doncaster but wasn’t in the duffel that Liam brought back with him. He hadn’t worn it there, though, he _knows_ that it was in his bag when he left.

The implications of it coming in later than the rest of his things make him sick and sad and upset again, so he shoves it in the back of his closet and refuses to think of it again.

He should be nervous, he thinks, then, when he walks into the lecture hall later in the morning. He should be thrown off, because of what he woke up to on his bed. It should be odd, because the exam is at a different day and time from when the actual class is held. He should be on edge because he’s going to be in the same room as Taylor again, and that always makes him feel weird. But he’s at peace. Maybe it helps that he knows he’s prepared for the exam, that this is one of the courses he threw his all into in the past two weeks.

He sits down, takes two sharpened pencils out, and smiles and thanks the TA when she hands him the blue book.

Ten minutes later, shortly before the clock is about to officially start, the seat next to him is one of the only ones still open, and Taylor slides in beside him. He stiffens up, hoping that she knew where she sat, for her own sake during the exam.

“Hi, Harry,” she says, giving him a small smile.

“Um,” he stutters, not sure how he’s supposed to respond. He hasn’t said a word to her since that afternoon everything came crashing down. “Hi?”

“Good luck, yeah?”

He nods dumbly. “You too.”

And the exam begins, so he doesn’t have time to dwell on their interaction further or say anything else to her.

It goes well. There’s only one question that sort of stumped him, but there was also an extra credit problem that he knows he has in the bag, so he isn’t worried at all. It feels so, so good to turn the blue book in two hours later when he’s done. He’s on a sort of high, almost.

He leaves the building, breathing in the cold, crisp, and fresh air, and comes across Taylor on one of the benches outside. Like when they first talked to each other, almost. She stands up and crosses over to him.

“How’d it go?”

“Really good, I think. You?” He still doesn’t understand why she’s talking to him.

“I’m happy with it.”

He nods. “Um, good, then.”

No one says anything for a moment. It’s really awkward, Harry thinks, and he’s wondering why she’s doing this when she talks again.

“Chelsea told me what happened to you over break.”

He doesn’t know how to react to that, because it takes him a minute to process what that statement means. It means that Niall went off talking to his girlfriend about Harry’s breakup, which he guesses makes sense, since Niall was in the middle of it all, but then it also means that Chelsea went blabbing to Taylor about it. He isn’t exactly surprised. And now this means that Taylor probably has some twisted sort of pity on him.

He wonders if she’s about to say “You fucking deserve it, arsehole,” but that wouldn’t exactly fit with how kind she’s been acting with the small talk.

“Oh,” is all that ends up coming out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

He laughs a tiny bit, trying to stave off everything that’s unspoken between them. It doesn’t exactly work, so he just dives in head-on. “I probably deserved it. Karma, and all.”

“Nah. I’m okay. Did you want to come down to the cafeteria with me? You look like you need someone.”

He’s a bit shocked by her last statement, both from the fact that he absolutely does not deserve it, coming from her, and also that he thought he was holding up the fort fairly well. “I don’t look that bad, do I?” he mumbles as he follows her across the quadrangle.

She shrugs. “You look at peace. But I found it a bit odd that you were so confident during the exam, considering how you did on most of the assignments.”

He scoffs, but playfully so. “I had a lot of time to work on it over the past few weeks.”

“Right. That’s good, though, it’s probably one of the better ways to spend your time.”

They walk in silence after that, into the dining hall and as they put their plates together. They sit at a table, and it’s a little open for Harry’s preferences – although he is used to finding some place in the corner with Louis so they could have at least a bit of privacy – but it’s okay, kind of. It’s not so awkward anymore.

He really feels the need to apologize again. “Taylor,” he starts, as they begin to eat. “I’m just – I’m sorry for everything, last month. I don’t remember if I ever told you that in person. I really, really fucked up, and it was kind of you to say that back there, but I absolutely do deserve the bad karma.”

She doesn’t respond for a minute, and then she says, “Yeah, you were an arsehole.”

“So what’s this for? Are you pitying me? Because I appreciate the thought behind it, but pity isn’t really what I want or need right now. At all”

“No, that’s not it. I like you as a person. I’d like to be friends with you. I know that, like, all those decisions you made, even if they were completely wrong, weren’t easy ones to make. I mean, at the very least, we run in the same circles so long as Niall and Chelsea are together, not to mention our studies, so a friendship wouldn’t be all that bad?”

He thinks on that for a minute, eating part of his sandwich, and he feels a bit humbled. “You’re very kind,” he says softly. “I’ll take you up on that.”

A few more minutes pass of small talk, where they complain about their workload for the next week and mention what they did over holiday, skirting over any mentions of the drama in Harry’s life, and for that, he’s more than a bit appreciative.

At one point, he sees a group of people enter the hall and he swears, he’s really sure, that Louis is in it. It’s his ankles, as stupid as it sounds, but they’re really distinctive and as his eyes travel up the boy’s body, yes, that’s definitely Louis’ arse and waist and shoulders and head. His eyes move to travel across the group and it turns out to be a good chunk of the football team.

Louis is laughing with them, and seeing him happy and lively and himself and just _there_ makes Harry feel like he’s been punched in the gut. (Why is Louis laughing? Harry isn’t laughing.) He immediately brings his eyes back to the table and Taylor looks at him nervously.

“You okay?” she asks.

He nods. “Yeah. Sorry, I zoned out for a second, what were you saying?”

The team walks to the other end of the hall, and Harry tries not to dwell on it.

Late that night, he gets a text message. He checks his phone, expecting it to be from Niall or Liam or Gemma or even Taylor, but it’s from Zayn.

_Zayn Malik_

_I’ve been meaning to say this for a while, Harry. Let me know if you want to go to a show, go out for a pint sometime. Don’t be a stranger, yeah?_

And, well, that’s nice. His reaching out is really appreciated. Harry doesn’t really know what to say in response, though, so he just sends a simple _Thanks. :)_ back. He’s not sure when he’ll take Zayn up on the offer.

While he’s in his messages folder, his thumb hovers over Louis’ name. He’s impressed with himself in that he only caved twice and read some of their older messages. He wonders if it’s maybe time for him to delete the thread. He wonders if it would be petty for him to delete Louis’ contact. He thinks that he’d maybe feel better about having these thoughts if he was actually, actively angry at Louis, that he’d feel more justified in wanting to take him off of his phone. Really, all it does is make him sad.

Maybe that’s reason enough.

He hasn’t been tempted to actually text Louis, God, no, he wouldn’t do that, because he knows that the second that he reaches out for contact, especially now that they’re within a fifteen minute walk of each other, his resolve could break. And that can’t happen.

So maybe it is time.

Without thinking again, he swipes over the conversation and hits the red ‘Delete’ button.

Fuck, it’s gone. He should feel liberated but he’s just overwhelmed with a rush of sadness all over again. He could text Louis, just text him a simple _Hi_ so there’s a conversation there again. It doesn’t feel right with it gone.

He shouldn’t have touched it. There goes his fucking determination. He goes and deletes the entire contact again, without a second thought, so he can’t do anything stupid.

And when he realizes that Louis isn’t in his phone anymore, he throws it against the wall and probably cracks it a second time.

Liam jumps from where he is in his bed and turns over.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, crawling under his comforter. “Dropped it.”

Liam just stares at him, his brow creasing in worry. “You okay?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, and Liam eventually turns back onto his side.

Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later, he just blurts out, “I deleted him from my phone.”

Liam stays silent for a moment before responding. “That’s a step.”

“Was it petty?”

“No, I don’t think so. That’s a really normal reaction to settling into a breakup, Harry.”

“Normal is good,” is all Harry can seem to muster up. “I want to be fucking normal for once.”

*

Time continues to pass, just like Harry continues to continue. He gets through two more exams by the nineteenth and he has a much-welcomed five-day break before his final one. He considers going home, but he doesn’t want to deal with the questions that his friends would bring up if he did, and given that his final exam is calculus, it’s better that he stays in a routine so he can study better and all. It is the course that he’s most worried about.

 He’s in the library, suffering through a particularly difficult problem, when Niall texts him.

_Niall Horan_

_Come get dinner w us. Leeyum Zaynie n me. Leeyum isnt studyin rite now so u shud b fine._

Harry sighs to himself. He does need to stop avoiding Zayn. Even if they aren’t ever as close as they were before, he does like him, very much so, and wants to maintain a friendship. It just feels weird, considering how close he is with Louis and that they live together and all.

At the same time, he really needs to get out of the library. So he responds, _Where?_

Niall doesn’t answer for a few minutes and he can only imagine that the three of them are off chest-bumping that they finally got him off campus and doing something. He does eventually, though.

_Niall Horan_

_NANDO’S where else b there @ 6_

It’s over half five now, so he puts his things together quickly and walks the four or five blocks to the restaurant. They’re waiting outside for him, the three together, and after he greets them all Zayn pulls him into a hug. It’s kind of nice, that he’s acknowledging things are different now, since they don’t normally greet each other so physically.

They all order, making small talk, and sit down to the table, Niall and Harry taking one side of the booth with Zayn and Liam on the other.

Harry feels oddly calm. It’s nice, the four of them, and while it would be nicer with Louis, this is what he has to get used to now.

Maybe someday, in a few months, the five of them will hang out again. It’ll be sad and weird but it’s bound to happen at some point. He could maybe do that. Harry and Louis are adults. He’s surprised that the thought crosses his mind, and even more surprised that he doesn’t want to throw up at the thought of it. It’s sad, and gives him a bit of a sinking feeling, the realization that he’s starting to move on, but it doesn’t make him ill. It’s a step, at least.

So he isn’t one hundred percent shocked with himself, only about eighty or so, when, after the food arrives, Harry up and asks Zayn, “How’s Louis?”

It’s weird to have his name roll off his tongue. He used to say Louis’ name so much. He used to moan it, whine it, stutter it, yell it out, whisper it, scream it in joy. He hasn’t said it at all in over two weeks. It sort of feels like when you sit down to do a maths problem or something after a while, and it takes a while before you get back in the rhythm, and that it comes out all wrong at first.

The table goes silent, but Zayn just smiles at him. “He’s okay, Harry. Focusing on exams and football, of course. Pretty busy right now.”

Harry nods. He picks up on the probing glances that Niall and Liam keep shooting Zayn, for God knows what reasons, and finds it all a bit strange. Then he can tell that Zayn gives Niall a swift kick in the shin, which is even stranger.

He’s kind of pissed off, actually. Him asking about Louis should be a good thing and yet everyone is treating it as if he’d brought up a taboo. However sad and mad he is, Louis shouldn’t be a taboo. It isn’t right to him. Is this how they treat Harry when Louis’ there and he isn’t?

“Sorry, was that not okay?” he asks the table sarcastically.

Zayn is quick to jump in. “No, Harry, you’re fine. Thanks for asking. I can let him know that you did if you want me to. Niall’s just on about something else, is all, it’s nothing to do with you.”

Okay. Harry still thinks that it’s strange, but he’s willing to take the out that Zayn gives him. Still, he doesn’t want Louis to know that he’s asking after him. “You don’t have to tell him,” he says, a bit quietly. “I just wanted to know.”

“Of course,” Zayn answers.

Harry kind of wants to ask if Louis ever asks about him. But he doesn’t. He isn’t sure if he’s ready for the answer to that, either way it may go.

Despite the moment of awkwardness, Harry really is glad he got out and went to dinner with the three of them. He hadn’t been off campus since their night out his first day back, and it’s good to talk to Zayn again.

When he wakes up the next morning, he feels better than he has in a while. Not perfect, but better. He spends most of the day in the library, studying with Liam for the exam, and they meet Niall in the dining hall for dinner. On their way back to their building, they cross paths with Taylor, and Harry is the first to notice and say hi to her.

Once they pass, his friends shoot him an odd look.

Harry just shrugs. “We kind of reconciled. She was very forgiving and said she wanted to be friends.” He pauses, weighing the pros and cons on his next step, before he shoots a knowing comment to Niall. “What, Chelsea didn’t tell you? Surprised.”

The snark may have been unnecessary but at the same time he’s taking it as a plus that he can be so flippant about something even tangentially related to his breakup.

Niall blushes and avoids Harry’s eyes for a few minutes.

Overall, though, Harry had a good day. So when he wakes up the next morning, ready for another good, maybe better one, he absolutely is not expecting what he sees when he’s scrolling through his school email. He was hoping that the TA for calculus had responded to a question he had about a certain problem that’s likely going to be on the exam. That isn’t what he finds.

The email that’s at the top of his inbox is one he hasn’t received anything from in the past, but it’s recognizable and downright scary.

_louistomlins@manchester.ac.uk_

Louis sent him an email. Why did Louis send him an email? Should he open it? Is it a spam thing? It could be a spam. But as far as Harry can remember, Louis never had his email address, so he must have went and found it somewhere. Spam or hackers don’t do that, Harry thinks. Did Louis delete his phone number, too, and is this his only way of contacting him? Why does Louis need to contact him? Does he have something of Harry’s to give back to him? Why can’t he go through Zayn or Liam, then?

Harry’s mind is clearly a mess. And it was so clear a few minutes ago.

He reads the subject line.

_Hi_

Well, that’s helpful. Very telling.

He doesn’t have to open it. He could delete it right now and forget that he saw it. Or he could read it and forget that he did that. Maybe it doesn’t say anything that would require him to do anything at all.

Or he could delete it.

He goes back and forth with himself for what feels like ages until he decides to man up and open the email. If it’s scary then he can close out after the first sentence.

Okay. He’ll open it. Hands on the wheel.

_Hi_

_Sent: 21 January 2013 12:38 AM_

_Harry,_

_I hope that this isn’t creepy. I thought that texting you would be too pushy, so I found your email. (I mean, not that it’s hard. Your first name and the first seven letters of your last. Lucky you, you get your full name in it.)_

_Zayn told me that he saw you the other day. I asked him how you were and he said that you looked and sounded like you were doing well. That’s good to hear._

_Okay, I’m emailing you because there are a few things I’d like to tell you, if you’re willing to hear them. I’m not asking anything of you, except to listen to me for maybe half an hour, probably less. There have just been a lot of things happening in my life in the past few weeks, sort of related to you, in a way, so I think that you might like to hear them. I think that it would be unfair of me not to offer to tell you._

_You don’t have to. I won’t hold it against you if you don’t, I could never hold anything against you. But if you want to, I’m going to be in the auditorium tomorrow (well, today, I guess…) from 7-8 working on a final project for my set design class, if you want to stop by. Or you could email me back with somewhere/sometime else to meet up if you want to._

_And I won’t bother you again, for the record, don’t feel pressured to respond or come or contact me or anything. I just wanted to put it out there because I think that I owe it to you to tell you these things. And I’d like to._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Louis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the scenes in this chapter are a bit choppy and blend together, but I feel that that reflects everything going on in Harry's own head...at least, that's how I hope it came across. :)


	21. But Let's Talk About It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favorite chapter yet. Hope you enjoy!

Harry was finally getting to a good place. He was finally doing what maybe felt like _moving on_. And then Louis emails him and tells him that he wants to talk to him. Today.

What the hell does he even want to say? What _is_ there to say? Yes, there are a lot of things that remain unspoken between them, but he’s pretty damn sure that those things are explicit in their own right and don’t really need to be worked out.

“Liam!” Harry says, waking his poor roommate up. “Liam, need to ask you something.” He jumps out of bed and crosses the room, hovering over him and prodding at his ribs.

Liam rolls over and blinks a few times before settling on a rather out-of-it, unamused, and dazed stare. “What?”

He waves his phone in Liam’s face, just far enough so that he can’t actually read the body of the email. Some things are still sacred. Harry starts rambling, the words just pouring out of his mouth. “He emailed me. Why did he email me? He wants to talk to me. I don’t know why. He just said that he has things to tell me. Do I go? It’s better if I don’t go, right? How am I supposed to move on if I’m still doing everything he asks me to do? It’s like it was when we were together and it isn’t right. But what if he actually has something important to say? I don’t really know what it would be.” He stops, letting his breathing catch up to his vocal chords and then adds, “What the fuck do I do, Liam?”

Liam sits up in bed slowly, patting for Harry to take a seat next to him. Harry obliges. “Go,” is all he has to offer.

Harry stares at him, waiting for more. When it’s obvious that there isn’t anything else coming, he asks, “That’s all you have to say?”

Liam shakes his head. “Just trust me. Go, talk to him. He isn’t asking you to get back together or anything, now is he?”

“No.”

“Right. So if it’s really awful for you, say you’re sorry and leave again. But you should at least go.”

Harry gets up slowly, moving to get dressed and ready for the day. “Do you know something that I don’t?” he asks Liam while he does his hair in the mirror.

Liam just sighs and throws his comforter back, getting out of bed himself. “Louis is my friend, Harry. I’ve seen him a few times.”

And, well, that makes Harry’s stomach twist in a strange sort of way.

They grab a quick breakfast after that and part ways as Liam has a study session and Harry is going off to the library for a few hours.

He doesn’t think that he’s going to get much studying in, anyway, given how distracted he is. (Does he go? Does he not go, and wish that he did for the rest of his life?)

He texts Niall before he cracks his textbook open. _Niall, he asked me to come talk to him later today. IDK what to do. Or what it even means. Liam is telling me to go. What about you?_

He gets a response within minutes, which is quite telling, considering that Niall had loudly informed them last night that he had no plans whatsoever to wake up any earlier than one in the afternoon today.

_Niall Horan_

_Listen 2 leeyum and GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO !!_

Well. That’s pretty damn telling, too. He responds that he’ll think about it, maybe. If they’re telling him to go this strongly then they probably know something fairly important that he doesn’t. He can’t even begin to imagine what it is.

Around three, he texts Zayn, because even though Zayn is Louis’ best mate above anything, he is also a very rational and level-headed person. _He asked me to see him later._ That’s all he sends. He knows that Zayn’ll get the picture.

_Zayn Malik_

_Okay. Don’t beat yourself up over it, but if you’re asking for advice, I’d say that if you’re in a good place for it to just give it a shot. If I had to wager a guess I’d say that it’ll give you some more closure, and that’s never really a bad thing, is it?_

He’s a bit more comfortable with that answer than Liam and Niall’s. Zayn didn’t hint toward anything that might lean toward Louis asking him to come back.

He’ll think about it a little more. He debates asking Taylor, considering that she’d give a bit of an outsider’s perspective that none of the three lads have, but he thinks that it might be weird and a little soon for that. No, he has to figure this out for himself now.

It’s 6:45 and Harry is pretty sure that he’s going to go. He stayed in the library all day, not feeling like walking around aimlessly or wallowing in his room. If he’s around people then he at least has to keep up some composure.

He’s going to go because if three of his friends, who were completely supportive of him leaving and ending things with Louis, are this insistent on his going, then there must be a reason behind it. He trusts them.

He’s going to go because Louis sounded incredibly sincere in his email. He said that he thinks he owes it to Harry to tell him what he has to say, and that’s piqued Harry’s interest incredibly. It has to be more than an apology or a promise to do better.

Harry is going to give it a shot. He packs his things up and leaves the library, heading across campus to the auditorium. At least it isn’t snowing right now, although it is a little cold.

He’s kind of sweating by the time he enters the building, obviously not because of the temperature, but because he’s really rather nervous. He hasn’t seen Louis in three weeks, basically to the day. He shouldn’t look all that different, but Harry’s scared, because what if he does? What if he looks all sickly-like, and totally heartbroken, and it’s all Harry’s fault? What if he’s failing all of his exams because he can’t concentrate on anything? Harry doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle knowing any, or all of that.

Wait, though. Zayn said that he was doing okay. That he was keeping busy. He was probably telling the truth. Harry probably has nothing to worry about.

So he takes a deep breath and pushes through the doors leading into the theatre. He doesn’t see Louis at first, and thinks that he’s maybe in the back or something, or hasn’t arrived yet. It’s only 7:10.

Harry has kind of missed this place. They all had a lot of fun here, and it’s a stage to perform on, which always makes him happy. He starts down the aisle and drops his coat and rucksack in one of the seats. He looks up at the stage after this and sees that Louis actually is there, he’s on the ladder, like he always is when Harry comes in.

A tinge of normalcy.

Then again, Louis always has someone behind him on the ladder, so he could very well topple over at any second, and Harry doesn’t really want to see that. So he jumps up on the stage and goes to steady it, grabbing the sides and staring up at Louis.

Louis looks down at him. “Hi,” he says softly.

Harry has a sudden urge to greet him with an “Oops,” but that probably isn’t all that appropriate for the moment. Instead, he says, “Hey. You, uh, didn’t have anyone for backup here.”

Louis shrugs and turns back to the lights. “It was steady for the most part.”

Harry doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but it is so, so, _so_ very nice to hear Louis’ voice again. He hasn’t realized how much he’s missed it until now.

He doesn’t know what to start wtih, and Louis isn’t saying anything, so he tries to make small talk. “So this is in place of an exam?”

“Yeah. We had to make a portfolio for a scene from a show and then set up a lighting and sound scheme for it in here.”

“What show are you doing?”

“Grease. _You’re the One That I Want_.”

Harry has to laugh at that, because it’s just so incredibly Louis.

“Give me one second,” Louis says. “I’m just fixing this gel in.”

“Okay.” Louis seems very calm and at peace with himself. It makes Harry glad to see, to be honest. He hasn’t gotten a full look at him yet but he certainly isn’t a sickly wreck.

Louis starts to step down a second later, and Harry grips the ladder so that it doesn’t fall. He jumps when he hits the second to last rung and turns around to face Harry dead-on.

Harry has to start those breathing exercises that Jonny looked up and gave him when he was having a particularly rough time last week, because he thinks that he’s going to faint from looking back into Louis’ eyes again. They’re blue. They’re so blue, and they’re kind, and they look a little sad, but again, they look calm, and there’s just so much wrapped up in them that Harry has to bite his lip and shove his hands in his pockets so that he doesn’t start flailing and screaming and running right out of the theatre and jumping back into his bed.

“Thanks for coming by, Harry,” Louis says, and Harry has to snap back to the here and now.

“Um, yeah,” Harry responds stupidly. “I figured, why not.”

“Right. Did you want to sit?”

“I don’t know. I’m fine here.”

It’s weird to be talking to Louis again. Their conversation is a bit stilted, like neither wants to push any boundaries or take the other to a breaking point. Harry wonders if it’s going to be like this forever. It probably is.

“Okay.” Louis leans back against the ladder and folds his arms together. The way he moves makes Harry’s eyes finally draw down his body, and they immediately go to the black script curving along his collarbones. The tattoo – not brand new, but not completely settled, either – is in a loopy sort of cursive and reads “It Is What It Is.”

Harry gulps. “Um, you got…”

Louis looks down at himself. “Yeah. It’s, uh, kind of a reminder of certain things. I got it a few days ago.”

“It must have really hurt. Along your bones like that.” Harry can’t even imagine Louis, who needed to squeeze Harry’s hand off just for a few simple lines on his arm, sitting still for such a detailed and large piece of writing right around his neck.

Louis just shrugs. “It did. I understand what you meant about going alone, though. It makes for a different kind of focus.”

So Zayn wasn’t even with him. Maybe Harry was wrong about how Louis was doing. He could be really fucked up on the inside, for all he knows.

“I’m gonna talk now, okay? You can talk, ask questions, but don’t feel like you have to say anything until I’m done if you don’t want to.”

Harry nods. He’s ready. He’s waiting. He just doesn’t know what’s coming.

“First things first, I really, really, really owe you an apology for everything that happened and how you were treated. In hindsight, it’s become so obvious that I didn’t have my shit together or organized at all, and I shouldn’t have asked you to come if it was going to be like it was. It wasn’t fair to put you through all the on again off again things that happened and surround you with everything that you were. I’ve obviously had a lot of time to think about that, and I’ve done my best to put myself in your shoes for a bit, and yeah, it was just really awful of me. I was being selfish and only thinking about how much I wanted you there, and not at all about what you’d have to deal with, regarding my family, Eleanor, the party, everything.”

Louis pauses for a moment, and he’s twisting his hands together. He looks really nervous to Harry. He also looks incredibly humbled. Harry just nods in response before whispering, “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Right, that’s barely even part of it. When you left, and we realized you were gone, we all freaked out really badly. We were scared. _I_ was scared. I didn’t know what happened to you, we couldn’t contact you, and I kept imagining worst-case scenarios and I just felt so, so sick…I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, of course, you were right to leave, I think, I’m just…saying it. I don’t know how much the others have told you about that night, but we went looking, all around Doncaster, and my mum and I were in one car. We stopped by Hall Cross –”

Harry cuts him off, feeling the need to chime in with his own version of events. “I was there. Around midnight. It’s where my sister picked me up. I threw up in the bushes.”

Louis bobs his head. “I almost did. We were obviously there hours later. But I kind of broke down, in the car. My reaction was a lot… _more_ than the others’ were, I guess, for obvious reasons. And she picked up on why. It’s a mum thing, I guess, although we all knew that she was pretty much already expecting it.”

“You came out to your mother,” Harry whispers.

“Yeah. I ended up telling her most everything. She was…I think she was sad, that I didn’t tell her earlier, and that I tried so hard to hide it from her. But she was also really great. It felt amazing.”

Louis looks so open right now, his words coming out softly and honestly, and Harry can’t help but offer him up a small smile. “That’s really nice to hear. It’s admirable. I’m happy for you.”

“I told my sisters, too. Everyone was supportive. They loved you even more after everything came out, but they understood why and how I fucked up, too. My mother was so upset, though, that I was making career decisions based off of what I thought that she and the girls needed. I hadn’t seen her that serious when she was telling me off in a long time. She made me promise not to consider them in what I did next. And Eleanor left that day, the first. Zayn stayed longer than he’d planned to, for a week. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” Louis still looks nervous, and he leans back against the ladder so hard that it nearly topples over and he loses his footing.

Harry jumps across to steady him, grabbing his shoulder in the process. Once it’s obvious that Louis isn’t going to fall over himself, Harry jerks back, feeling like he grabbed onto hot coals. Touching Louis was addicting. It still is. He can’t fall back into this. It’s nice that Louis is open with his family now, it’s fantastic to hear. He meant every word that he said to him just now. But just because Harry wouldn’t have to watch himself around the Tomlinsons doesn’t mean that he can automatically handle everything that goes on outside of their homes.

Then again, he isn’t even sure if Louis is asking him for a second chance. He doesn’t think that he is, actually.

“Sorry,” Louis says, referencing the tussle with the ladder.

“It’s fine. Did you have anything else to say, or are you done?”

“Um, a little more. But you can go now, if you want.”

Things really are weird between them. That is what happens when couples break up, after all. Even if neither of them are angry and they’re both just amicably sad.

This almost seems worse than if there was a mountain range of hard feelings between the two of them.

“I didn’t mean that,” Harry says. “Keep going.”

“I told my coach to go fuck himself,” Louis blurts out.

_This_ Harry is surprised at – he’s truly taken aback. “What?”

“I mean, not in so many words. But I did say that I had my head too far up his arse, so that was…weird…”

“What have you done, Louis?” Harry asks with an air of shock and amazement, even though he has a strong feeling that he already knows the answer.

“I came out to the recruiter. I told him that I wasn’t willing to be closeted, either. If I’m getting signed, I’m going to be out to the public. I did all that before I talked to David, too. I was mad, so mad, because Charles, the recruiter, he took it far better than I expected. I thought he was going to be a little pissed off that I led him on for so long only to drop it now, shake my hand, and be done with me. Do you know what he said? He said, ‘Well, we’re probably going to scrap Manchester and Chelsea, then.”

Louis is starting to get worked up. Harry has never really seen him with this glint, this glint of determination and anger in his eyes before. And it definitely isn’t Harry who he’s mad at.

“He told me that obviously it’s going to be harder. I might become a bit of a hero or martyr for a while, but I think that's okay. I have a lot more people behind me now. And he told me that if I want this in the near future at all, he’s glad I’m doing it now instead of next year where there could be contractual issues, image clauses. He said that he thinks that since I’m so far into the process of talks with clubs that some are starting to think of signing me, that it won’t be impossible for me to get signed to a lower league. That if we spin it the right way, we can make it sound like, ‘Hey, here’s this player who you didn’t consider because he was talking to Manchester and the like. But authenticity, or whatever, is so important to him that he knows that he needs to take it a notch down for now. How about it? Take a chance and sign a gay man.’ It’s not a lie. Not at all, it’s closer to the truth than I’ve ever been in business dealings. And that’s more than enough for me, now. I don’t fucking care about the prestige, or the money, I just want to be happy. I don’t want to fuck up all of my relationships, for God’s sake, I just want to be able to _have_ them.”

He stops again, and rubs at his face, stepping to the right and past Harry before he sits down center stage. Harry isn’t sure what to do, so he stands around awkwardly for a while, watching Louis catch his breath between his legs, until he walks over himself and takes a seat an acceptable distance from him.

“That’s what I said to him, at least. To David. Jesus, I _know_ that he didn’t mean to, I know that his heart was in the right place, but he was so focused on everything that he saw in the business from when he was younger that he didn’t take the time to do his fucking research or even ask anyone, let alone Charles, about any of the possibilities out there. Either that or he thought I was ‘above’ the lower leagues and assumed that I wouldn’t even consider it. And fuck, I’m to blame for part of it, because I took him at his word and assumed that what he said was gospel for the field, and, like I said, I just had my head way too far up his arse.”

“Wow,” is Harry’s response to all of that, once it’s clear that Louis is done talking for now, because it’s really the only thing he can think of to say.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “Wow.”

They sit in silence for a long while.

Harry isn’t sure what to think. Louis came out, to everyone and everything in his life. He essentially told his coach to jump off of a cliff. His career may not be tanked just yet. He just…Harry doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react to all of this. What he should do, or say.

Louis coughs, clearing his throat and breaking the silence. “I don’t want this to come out the wrong way,” he starts. “But I didn’t do any of that for you. I don’t know if you think that I did, you probably don’t, but I want to tack it on there as a disclaimer. I absolutely did it for myself. I was so miserable, so, _so_ miserable come New Year’s Day, and yes, a lot of it had to do with the fact that you were gone and not coming back. But after a few days, and a talk with a little nine-year-old who missed you very much, I realized that so much of my despair had to do with the fact that as far as I could tell, my life was going to be like that for the foreseeable future. And that was more difficult to come to grips with than anything else. That now, since I’d had a taste of how happy I could be with someone, and how much it hurt to have it ripped away, I couldn’t go back to shutting myself off from relationships or love.

I didn’t get the tattoo for you, exactly, either. It’s a bit of a reminder about what went wrong, yeah, but it’s also there for me to look down at if I get frustrated about what’s happening in football and everything. With things that I’m unable to control. You’re right, it hurt like hell, but it was a pretty sobering experience, too. I like it here.” He pats his collarbone area gently.

And that’s kind of amazing for Harry to hear. It’s Louis taking charge of his life, taking it for what he needs it to be, no one else – not David, not some old football bigwigs, not his family, and not for Harry. It touches him, even though it doesn’t have anything to do with him at all.

He was just the catalyst.

He scoots over a bit until he’s closer to Louis, and he pulls him into a big, tight hug. “I’m really proud of you for that, then. That’s so important.”

Louis doesn’t say anything in response, but he molds his body to fit into Harry’s embrace.

It’s nice. It’s relaxing. It’s a bit more normalcy after a hellish three weeks. It’s home.

“Thanks for being understanding,” Louis tells him after a few minutes.

“Thanks for not hating me,” Harry murmurs back. “And for telling me all of this. I appreciate it.”

Louis pulls away at that, looking aghast. “I could never hate you,” he says. “You were completely in line to do what you did.”

Harry shrugs, tracing patterns on the dusty stage floor. “Yeah. But I still felt like shit. I felt like I was a failure for not being able to handle it all. That I should’ve been stronger, or summat.”

“I think I was the failure here, Harry.”

Harry shakes his head vehemently. “Failure is a very strong word. You were under a lot of pressure and doing what you could with the choices you had at the time.”

“Still,” Louis insists. “I made a lot of mistakes.”

“Okay.” Harry nods. “I’ll agree with that.”

They fall silent for a while again, and Harry lets his arms slacken around Louis so they’re just sort of lying there, not really embracing him anymore.

“How did we even get to this point?” Louis asks, looking up.

“What do you mean?” Harry doesn’t understand the question.

“I mean this, all of this. Like, how? I just fucking bumped into you in the toilet and was a bit of a snarky arse to a random first-year. How did we fall into the fucking _mess_ that we ended as?”

That’s a good question, actually, Harry thinks. He doesn’t know how to answer it. “It just kind of happened. I think. They say that’s how it works, you know. You don’t notice it.”

“It just happens.”

“Right.”

Harry belatedly realizes that they’re starting to talk about themselves as an entity again, as HarryandLouis, instead of Harry and Louis, who broke up.

He doesn’t know how to react to that, either, but it doesn’t scare him as much as he thinks that it should.

That realization leads him to another one. If Louis is out, he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

Beyond that, either Louis’ dramatic training kicked into full force in the three weeks that Harry hasn’t seen him, or he really, truly has made a lot of personal progress with his priorities and has been able to step back and recognize all of the shit that Harry went through in the past few months.

Harry’s heart starts to beat a little faster and he wonders if Louis can hear it.

“Thanks for coming,” Louis says, starting to push away from Harry a little. “It means a lot, to tell you all of that.”

He stands up, back facing Harry.

Harry just stays sitting, sprawled out and looking up at Louis. He’s thinking something and he wants to know if he’s crazy. He just doesn’t know how to ask the question.

Because what’s running through his mind right now is the exact opposite of what he expected, wanted, even, to come out of seeing Louis today. It was what he actively _didn’t_ want to happen, in fact. But that feels so far away right now. He feels like his perspective, with all of this new information, has been completely flipped, and therefore it’s okay for him to come to a different conclusion.

He also knows why his friends were so insistent that he come by, and he knows what Niall was trying to get Zayn to say at dinner the other night when Harry asked after Louis.

Also, looking at Louis doesn’t hurt anymore, and Harry wasn’t hurting at Louis’ touch when he stood up.

It seems that Louis was expecting a response from Harry to his latest statement, so he turns around to find Harry lying there, staring at him. “What?” he asks, self-consciously.

Harry stands up, wobbling on his legs a little, and steps closer to Louis. “On a scale of one to ten,” he asks in a deep whisper, “How pathetic, needy, and childish would it look if I asked you if we could try this again?”

Louis just blinks at him, mouth open a bit. “Ten is the most?”

Harry nods.

“Negative one thousand.” And he closes the gap between them, pressing his mouth up to Harry’s, and Harry absolutely melts back into the touch, and it’s like it was when he hugged him a few minutes ago, it’s like coming home. He thinks that he might cry, so he just kisses Louis back even harder and wraps his arms around his waist, yanking him closer.

The kiss doesn’t turn filthy, or messy, or loud. They’re just going back and forth, pressing their lips to each other as if they were starved for the contact and occasionally sucking at the other’s bottom lip, drawing it into their own mouth.

Harry steps away for a second to catch his breath, breathe for a bit, and he looks down at Louis, who, God, _is_ crying. He’s wiping at his face, blushing, but eventually gives up and just presses into Harry’s chest, laughing shallowly. Harry holds him back tightly. He never wants to let him go again.

“I feel like I used you, or something,” Louis says from Harry’s jumper, his voice muffled. “Brought you back here to own up to a bunch of shit and I ended up roping you back in anyway.”

“ _Please_. I had no intention of snogging your face off, or even touching you at all, when I walked in. But then, like, you said a lot of things that weren’t meaningless at all, quite the opposite, actually, so that means my intentions can change. If you want this, too, of course.”

Louis pulls back and gives Harry one of his playful shoves to the chest. “I just said that I did.”

Harry grabs Louis’ hands and nods, just gazing at Louis, at his cinnamon brown hair, his blue eyes, his twinkling face, his shoulders, curves, ankles, feet, everything. It feels like it’s been years since he’s seen him, been able to look, like this. “I missed you,” he mumbles, and he feels emotion start to swell up in his chest again. His own eyes are watering now.

Louis detaches one of his hands from Harry’s and brings his thumb up to wipe at the corners of Harry’s eyes. “Me too. So, so much.” He presses a kiss to the side of his mouth.

Harry nods again, blindly this time, just looking around the room, a bit overwhelmed with everything. “You have your project…”

“Not due till Thursday. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“Where do we go from here?” Louis asks, taking just the tiniest step back, as if he’s afraid of the answer.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know. I just want to be with you, to be honest. It’s been a long three weeks.”

“Did you eat?”

Harry laughs. “Are you asking me out on a date, Louis Tomlinson?”

Louis waggles his eyebrows. “Maybe. Answer the question.”

“No, I haven’t had much of a meal at all. I’ve been holed up in the library all day snacking on granola bars and vending machine pastries.”

“Come to dinner with me, then,” Louis offers with a smile and a tug on Harry’s hand.

Harry laughs and looks up at the ceiling, ending up faced with a bright light that might as well be the sun itself.

*

 Harry helps Louis clean the auditorium up fairly quickly, and they do it in silence. Harry still catches glimpses of Louis whenever he can – of his nose, his jaw, his shoulders, arse, calves, ankles – and he’s quite sure that he feels Louis’ eyes on him from time to time as well. Once the job is done, Harry goes to grab his coat and rucksack, waiting for Louis by the entrance to the theatre.

Louis comes out from backstage, pulling a coat of his own on. “You’re wearing a coat,” Harry says. “That’s good.”

Louis just laughs flippantly as he shuts the doors to the theatre behind them. “Yeah, well, time to be an adult.”

They step outside into the evening light and air. The sun has nearly set now, and the darkness setting into campus is soothing. It isn’t scary – mixed with the cold, Harry feels very calm and serene right now. He turns to Louis. “Were you going to call to make a reservation? I can go change, I’m just in a plain jumper…”

Louis looks up at him, confused for a moment, before he realizes what Harry’s asking. “Oh. I could. Or we could go somewhere else.”

Right. They don’t have to go to subtle, quiet, safe places like Rosso anymore. They have all of Manchester at their fingertips now. They could go anywhere, just the two of them. Harry grins widely, nodding. “Yeah.” He nudges Louis’ shoulder. “You pick.”

He stands for a minute, shifting his weight around and clearly thinking. “There’s an Indian place a few miles into the city? We could take a cab.”

“Perfect.”

They walk across campus to the main road, and it feels different, being outside and knowing that there are no pretenses surrounding their proximity to each other in public. Louis doesn’t reach to grab his hand or anything, and he doesn’t want to push, because he knows how it feels to suddenly have that very first realization that you can touch the person you’re with out and about. He knows that for the time being, tonight, and tomorrow, and the next day, at least, it absolutely isn’t anything personal to him if Louis has trouble with even the tiniest bit of PDA.

And besides…they’re technically not really together right now. Just trying it again. Maybe things will be a little slow for now, and if that’s what has to happen, then so be it.

The cab ride is quiet as well, but it’s still comfortable and Harry makes a point to keep his hand on Louis’ knee. Louis seems more than happy to accept the touch. They exit in front of the restaurant and are seated quickly. The restaurant is loud and busy, and much less formal than Rosso. It’s weird for them, Harry thinks – different. Like a normal date for two uni boys, actually.

“Are you drinking tonight?” Louis asks, going through the menu.

“Um. Maybe not. You?” He figures that they may not be done talking and he’d much rather do it sober.

“I’m good.”

So they accept the water that the waiter brings them and order. Once their menus are taken and they’re left to themselves, Louis kicks back in his seat and looks softly and silently on at Harry. Harry just sits there, hoping that he’s returning the fond look well enough.

“Sorry,” Louis says suddenly, sitting upright again and playing with the condensation on his glass. “Is this awkward for you? It isn’t for me. I’m actually really happy right now, sitting across from you.”

Harry smiles, shaking his head softly. “Not awkward.”

“Okay.” Louis reaches across the table and grabs one of Harry’s hands with his, holding it tightly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah. Anything.”

“Did you ever patch things up with your friends at home?”

“I did. We ended up getting together a few times, too. It’s weird, because two of them turned into mortal enemies the last time we were all together in one place, but they fixed it up somehow. It was nice to have everyone all together again.” It really means a lot that Louis is asking him about this. About something normal in his life, something concerning his well-being outside of Louis.

Louis grins. “That’s great, Harry. I’m so happy it all worked out.”

“Yeah, me too. You give good advice.”

“Right, it’s just living it, is the hard part.”

Harry gives his hand a squeeze. “Seems like you are now, though.”

Louis just nods and mumbles something that sounds like “trying.”

Harry wants to have a normal conversation now. “What are you going to do? If football falls through.”

Louis’ eyes light up. “I’m actually looking at jobs. I don’t have much experience, outside of the sport and working in university gyms and the like, but I’ve been emailing some professors, seeing what’s out there. I think I might like something at a place like the YMCA, where you’re still working with kids, but more on the side. After school things, like, you know…footie and drama. And then I’d sign up for certification courses for teaching at night or whatever and maybe try to land an internship.”

Harry blinks at him, impressed and a bit stunned at what he has mapped out.

“What do you think of that?” Louis asks, sounding a little insecure.

Harry squeezes his hand again. “I think that sounds really, really fantastic, Louis. It’s impressive, and a solid career path whether or not football works out. But I hope, and think, that it will.”

Louis kicks back in his seat again, separating from Harry to take a drink of water. “Do you know what I think, Hazza?”

Harry’s heart swells at the return of his beloved nickname. “What, Lou?”

“I think that the Rovers would be a pretty sweet gig.”

“The twins would love you for that.”

Louis giggles and their table lights up. “And an hour’s drive isn’t that bad, is it?”

Harry shakes his head decisively. “No, it isn’t. Not at all.” Louis is talking about them as an entity again. This might work. This _will_ work. Harry is determined.

They fall back into semi-normal, relaxed, and so very, very comfortable conversation patterns for the rest of the evening. Dinner is great, but the company is definitely far greater. They finish up around nine-thirty, and Louis grabs the check, again, because “he asked.” In retaliation, Harry tugs him down the street and into a nearby bakery that’s just starting to close up and he buys them each a cupcake.

“I’ll take you to the one in Holmes Chapel, someday,” he says as he hands Louis the dessert. “But for now, take this.”

They’re sitting on a bench along the pavement and under an awning, huddled close for warmth, when Harry catches Louis staring at him. “Wha’ issit?” he slurs, face pressed into the pastry.

Louis smirks playfully and wipes at Harry’s nose when he pulls the cupcake away. “Got frosting on you.”

Harry giggles. “Thanks.”

Louis pulls back and studies Harry’s face again. “I didn’t get it all.”

“Okay. Have at it again.” Harry sits patiently, waiting to take another bite of the dessert.

“No, it’s on your mouth now, my fingers won’t get it…” Louis trails off as he leans in quickly, giving Harry one, two, three pecks on the lips before pulling back, smiling wide. “That was really nice.”

Harry nods silently and leans forward to press his face into Louis’ hair, taking shaky, deep breaths. He pulls back, and Louis is still smiling, though a bit softer this time. They finish their cupcakes quickly and sit on the bench for a moment longer, when Louis suddenly stands up.

“I’m knackered. It’s been a long…while. Should I flag a cab, Hazza?”

“Yeah, you could do that.”

As they climb into the backseat of the car and Louis tells the driver “The uni, please,” Harry starts to fret a bit. Do they go home together? Harry wants to. He wants to be with Louis again, feel him, smell him, taste him, move with him, _touch_ him. Should he want to? Does Louis want to?

He’s so preoccupied with debating whether or not he should just up and invite Louis to his room that he doesn’t notice Louis curl into his side until after the fact. He blinks down at him, his chin brushing the top of his fluffy head.

Wait, though, he can’t really invite Louis to his room because Liam is there and he didn’t ask him beforehand. Oh. Liam doesn’t even know that the night went the way it did. He could be dead, for all Liam knows. Harry says that last bit out loud.

Louis leans back up and shakes his head, pulling Harry’s phone out of his pocket for him. The gesture is oddly intimate and domestic, and it makes Harry feel warm inside. “Text him then, let him know, if you’re worried.”

“Right.” Harry takes his phone and finds that he already has a few messages waiting for him.

_Liam Payne_

_Did you end up going?_

_Niall Horan_

_how goes it_

_Zayn Malik_

_Are you okay? Are you with him? I don’t want to sound pushy but I haven’t heard from either of you in a few hours and that’s way out of character…_

_Liam Payne_

_FUCK I think it’s happening, there’s radio silence, it’s finally happening, innit?_

_Liam Payne_

_SHIT FUCK I MEANT TO SEND THAT TO ZAYN IGNORE ME_

_Liam Payne_

_Also ignore me because I’m going up to Niall’s right now. For a while. So I don’t have to see you until my embarrassment blows over. Or, you know, so you don’t have to see me… ;)_

Harry bursts into a fit of giggles at the last three messages in particular and shows them to Louis.

Louis throws his head back in laughter and takes the phone to read it closer. He hands it back to Harry. “He’s a treasure.”

“Something else.”

The cab pulls up at one of the main entrances to the school now. “Is this okay?” the driver asks.

 Louis pulls a few bills out of his jeans’ pocket and hands them to him. “Yes, thank you.”

They step out and Harry looks around, trying to gain his bearings and see where they are. It’s the entrance in the middle of campus, split rather evenly between Louis’ flat and Harry’s dorm.

It’s dark now, the only lights coming from the few street lamps and emergency fixtures here and there. It’s cold, too, but not windy – stagnant. Harry is looking up at the stars and feels Louis reaching out and taking his hand.

“They _are_ brighter in Doncaster,” Harry murmurs, thinking of what Louis told him once.

Louis looks up with him. “Yeah. But they’re kinda nice here too. Dimmer, but you can see every light that the city gives shining up to meet them.”

“I never thought of it that way. I like that.”

Moments pass with them looking at the sky, and Harry realizes that Louis is leaving the next move up to him. He might as well take it.

“Liam’s not in the room,” he says simply, stating the fact. “Come back with me?”

Louis leans up to press a kiss to Harry’s exposed and cold neck. “I’d love to.”

They stumble back to the building quickly and quietly, Louis grabbing at Harry’s hand and tugging him along. He leads them up the front entrance for once, even though it’s half ten by now and no one is really milling about. They take the single flight of stairs downstairs and Harry keys the door to his room open, gesturing Louis inside.

He’s grateful that he took the step to make his bed this morning, although hopefully that won’t matter much in the end.

Louis leans back against the wall by the closet, watching Harry fondly as he locks the door and takes his coat and boots off.

“You can get comfortable, if you want,” Harry says as he drops onto the side of his bed.

Louis nods, shrugging out of his own jacket and Vans. He crawls onto the bed next to Harry and takes his head in each hand, leaning in to kiss him. He stops just sort of his lips, though, their noses touching, and whispers, “This is what you want, yeah?”

Harry closes his eyes and swallows. “So much, yes,” he nods.

Louis doesn’t say anything else and connects their mouths, wasting no time before Harry can feel his tongue darting out and running across his lips. Harry opens gratefully, hungrily, and pulls Louis closer in by the waist. Louis’ hands move from Harry’s face and up into his hair, kneading at his scalp gently and tugging oh so softly on his curls.

Oh, how Harry has missed this. Everything feels right now.

He moans into the kiss, moans as he feels Louis explore his mouth again with his tongue.

After a few minutes of snogging, though, the angle they’re at, with both of their legs dangling off of the bed, becomes a bit stiff and awkward. Harry pulls away reluctantly, and Louis pouts at him just the slightest bit. Harry just scoots further back so he’s up by the pillows, pulls back the comforter, and pats the empty space next to him for Louis to join.

Instead, Louis straddles him, and Harry leans back slowly so he’s lying down. Louis hovers over him for a moment, running his hands up and down his jumper, and then underneath, before leaning over him and dropping to kiss again. He works his way down Harry’s face this time, brushing along his mouth, cheek, chin, jaw, before settling into his neck.

“Ah,” Harry lets out has he leans up and deeper into the pillow so Louis can get into the crook where his neck meets his collarbones. Louis’ body is basically draped across Harry’s now, and he is so warm, and so heavy, but in the absolute best sort of way. Harry doesn’t want to be anywhere else but under Louis.

His hands are just in the sheets, so he brings them up to run along Louis’ back, pressing into the dips in his spine and tugging at the hem of his jumper.

“Off,” he says, trying to get a word in.

Louis grunts into his neck, continuing to work at it for a few seconds before finally sitting up, still crotch-to-crotch with Harry. “Fine,” he says, whipping his jumper off and casting it to the side. He brings his hands back to Harry’s face, running them up and down and just holding him softly. “We don’t have to do everything, if you don’t want to. I’m happy to lie here and kiss you all night.” He bends down to kiss Harry on the forehead and pulls back up. “Whatever you want, Hazza,” he adds.

Harry shakes his head as he gazes at Louis’ shirtless body. He’s a wonderland, and while he’s decidedly less tan than he is during the thick of football season and autumn, his skin is still a glorious tone and his abs are certainly still present. The new tattoo graces his chest stunningly, the words a perfect summation of Louis. “I want _you_ , so badly,” is what he says.

“Let’s get this off, then,” Louis murmurs, rucking Harry’s jumper off as Harry finagles his arms to climb out of it.

Louis immediately turns his attention to Harry’s left arm, tracing the area with his fingers before he eyes it, and then he closes in on the now completely-dark star. His mouth drops to an open “O,” and he just presses his thumb in deeper.

Harry feels the need to say something. “I…I didn’t want…”

Louis turns to make eye contact with him, and his are soft. “It looks nice, Hazza. Different. But nice. What were you saying?”

“I didn’t want anyone else to touch it,” he says softly, and Louis’ face sort of crumples at that. He drops back down to Harry’s level, pressing his mouth to Harry’s cheek. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry?”

Harry turns his head, nudging Louis back a little so they’re kissing again. “Don’t apologize. It’s just…yeah.” He slips a hand in between them to trace across Louis’ tattoo so the message is received. “This.”

Louis nods and shifts his head so he’s back on level with Harry’s bicep, and kisses the star like he used to, working at it with his mouth. It feels different, now that it’s all tattooed in, but Harry immediately decides that he likes this just as much, if not even more, as he did before. Louis comes up, a thin string of saliva connecting his lips to Harry’s skin, and says, “’S like a secret now. No one else can see it.”

And Harry gets it. He nudges Louis back to his face, though, bringing him back in for another kiss. Their lips move together, tongues sliding in and out slowly, and Harry arches back as the already hot skin of their chests presses up against each other.

“Louis…” Harry moans, and oh, it is so, so good to moan his name again. “Louis, Louis, Louis,” he says, relishing the taste of the name on his mouth.

Louis just stares down at him, waiting.

“’M really tight in my jeans,” Harry says, trying to drop a not-so-subtle hint.

Louis laughs and shimmies his way down Harry’s torso. “In more ways than one, I’m sure.”

Harry blushes despite himself.

Louis unbuttons his jeans and tugs them off, coming back up to get his pants. Harry breathes at the relief, at no longer being constricted, and simultaneously groans at the sensations that the air gives to his hard cock.

He feels Louis run his hands down his thighs, scratching ever so gently at his skin. He feels Louis’ hot breath against him, ghosting just around his dick, hovering, but not touching. It, the pleasure, is so close, but so far, and he needs to feel this, feel it once more, feel it after he thought it was something that he would never feel again.

“Want you,” Harry mumbles, letting his hands comb through Louis’ hair.

Louis looks up from his teasing and grins. It’s a big, genuine grin, and one of the most normal facial expressions that Harry has seen all night. He’s on cloud nine, the both of them are, it seems. Louis nudges Harry’s legs apart quickly, settling himself on his knees between him and grabbing hold of his dick.

Harry lets out a loud moan at the contact, tossing his head back and fisting in the sheets with his fingers.

Louis laughs at his reaction, pumping slowly. “Fuck, you’re so hard,” he says. “We haven’t really done that much…”

“Yeah, well,” Harry says, struggling to form a coherent sentence. “You have that effect on me. Your mouth, anywhere, it’s…intoxicating. And, uh, been a while.”

“Mmmm,” is all Louis responds with, pausing to make a show of licking his hand before bringing it back down to Harry. “How do you wanna come?”

“With you inside me.” Harry doesn’t miss a beat.

Louis closes his eyes and stops stroking Harry, shuddering.

“Preferably sooner than later,” Harry adds, arching his back again as Louis picks up the pace and thumbs over his near-leaking slit.

Louis stops what he’s doing with his hands and climbs off of Harry, clambering onto the small strip of carpet between his bed and the closet. “Sorry,” he breathes, flushed and red. “Gotta get out of these.” He starts unbuttoning his jeans and forcing them down with his pants, and Harry giggles at the sight.

“What?” he asks indignantly as he yanks the skinnies off of his ankles, dick springing free.

“You’re cute,” Harry breathes, rolling over to his nightstand to open the bottom drawer and pull out the lube and a condom.

Louis scoffs, climbing back into bed and snatching the bottle from Harry. “I just whipped my dick out and you’re calling me cute, Harry? Maybe I should start calling you ‘Curly’ again.”

“No, no!” Harry protests with a laugh as Louis flips the bottle cap open and makes a show of drizzling the slick liquid over his fingers. “More like…”

Louis drops his hand and nudges it to Harry’s arse, prodding lightly at his hole as Harry gasps, both at the contact and the coolness of Louis’ wet finger. “Handsome,” he says, trying to finish his sentence.

Louis massages his hole with his index finger before slipping the tip in. Harry groans. “Rugged,” he continues, feeling sweat start to bead at his temple.

He hears Louis’ breath hitch as he slides his finger in deeper, and Harry clenches around it. “And manly,” he finishes. He closes his eyes and ruts back onto Louis’ finger, begging for more.

Louis twists in past the second knuckle and starts to push in and out. “I’ll take those,” he answers with a smirk.

“More,” Harry breathes.

Louis complies quietly, slipping a second finger in while reaching his other hand forward to squeeze Harry’s and make eye contact with him. He blows his hair out of his face and bites his lip, and God, is it a vision of perfection if Harry ever saw one. Even though Louis just had his hands on it, Harry can feel the need for his cock to be touched grow by the second. He thrusts into Louis’ fingers again, hoping to send the proper message.

Louis just straddles Harry’s right thigh, keeping his fingers moving as they are, and leans up and over his face, smiling and cooing at him. “You like that, Harry? Like my fingers in your bum, stretching you all up for my cock?” At that, he scissors the two fingers, stretching Harry wider, and it burns, but it’s _so good_. Louis’ words may be dirty, but he speaks them softly, as if he were whispering sweet nothings into Harry’s ear.

“Ngh,” is all Harry can manage to reply, looking up at Louis and puckering his lips for a kiss. He’s dying for Louis’ mouth.

He complies, kissing Harry, at first softly and then with an incredible, amazing amount of force as he thrusts his fingers up further than before, brushing across Harry’s prostate.

“Oh, God,” Harry cries, breaking the kiss and panting, feeling the burst of pleasure wash over him like a wave in the ocean.

Louis chuckles and nuzzles his nose against Harry’s temple. “Thanks, but it’s just Louis,” he teases.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, still unable to focus and really just trying not to come before they even get to the main event. “’S Louis.”

“You ready, Hazza?” he asks, starting to pull himself up again.

Harry nods frantically. “Yes, yes, yes please.”

Louis grins and slides his fingers out, reaching for a tissue to wipe them off with before grabbing the condom and tearing it open. He slides it on, slicks himself up with copious amounts of lube, and braces Harry’s legs against his shoulders before leaning back down, one hand pressed against the pillows and the other guiding his cock toward Harry’s arsehole. Louis closes his eyes as he enters, and Harry just watches his face while he does so, mesmerized.

He wants to memorize every detail of this face, even though he has absolutely no intention of ever being separated from it ever again. He watches the way Louis’ brows pull together, the way his eyelids crinkle as they squeeze shut, the way that one vein in his neck strains, the way his lips purse and thin out, all while he pushes deeper, deeper inside of Harry.

And oh, how it feels, Harry wants to memorize that too, how it feels to have Louis’ cock slowly fill him up, stretch him apart, and God, there are really no words for it, so he just slings his arms around Louis’ neck when he starts to move and moans, he moans loudly, and thinks that he wants to break their sound record, because it doesn’t _matter_ if anyone hears them fucking and then sees Louis leaving the room anymore, the whole building can know that they fucked for all they care.

Louis drops his head so their foreheads are touching and opens his eyes, echoing Harry’s sentiment. “Be loud for me, baby,” he says as he goes as far into Harry as possible, so they’re fully connected and their hip bones are touching.

So Harry cries out, letting obscenities like “Fuck, fucking shit,” “Harder Louis,” and “Like that, yes, that,” fly, and while he sort of feels like a porn star, the reaction that it’s eliciting out of Louis just makes it that much hotter.

By now, Louis has attached himself back to the area around Harry’s neck and arm, sucking and licking and kissing and biting, biting _hard_.

“’M gonna wear a vest tomorrow,” Harry lets out, struggling to form the sentence. “No matter how cold it is. So everyone I come across can see how you tore me up tonight.”

Louis whimpers into his ear, fucking him with full force now, and Harry can feel his cock slide between their torsos, he can feel it get lubed up with precome. He wants to touch it, needs to touch it, but more than anything, he wants _Louis_ to touch it.

“My cock,” he says, breathing into the air above them. “So hard for you, I need…need…”

Louis gets the picture, sliding a hand between them as he props himself up on his other arm, and starts to run his hand over it again. “This what you need, love?”

Harry closes his eyes and bites his lip so hard that he might cry, though from the jab of pain in his mouth or the reemergence of one of his favorite nicknames, he doesn’t know. “Yes, Lou, yes, yes…” he stutters, unable to think of much else to say. He opens his eyes and finds Louis’, those bright blue orbs shining through the dim light from his vanity. And they’re so full, full of God knows what – love, remorse, care, cheek, sass, love, love, love.

That intensity is what pushes Harry over the edge, coming in Louis’ hand and between their connected bodies. “Fuck, oh my – Louis, Lou, Lou, Lou,” he cries, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as he rides through his orgasm with Louis still pumping into him, bringing both hands up on either side of his head as he rocks his hips.

“Gonna come with you,” Louis declares against Harry’s lips, kissing and fucking and kissing and fucking, and soon he’s joining Harry, letting loose, sobbing, “Harry, Harry, Hazza, fuck, Jesus, so good, oh my _God_ ,” and nearly collapsing on top of him.

They’re both breathing a little shakily, and Harry can feel a tear or two drop from his eyes when he opens them, finding Louis nuzzled against him. He presses his mouth to Harry’s cheek, leaving a hot and messy kiss in its wake.

“It’s so good to be with you,” Louis says, slowly lifting himself up to pull out. He rolls onto his back next to Harry, on his side of the bed and takes the condom off, knotting it and tossing it across the room, where it lands perfectly into the bin. Louis makes a tired little pumping gesture with his fist, which in turn makes Harry giggle.

He drapes himself across Louis, ignoring the sticky traces of come on the both of them. He needs to wash his sheets anyway, he never got around to it before leaving in December. “I’m really happy, Lou,” he mumbles into his chest, against the tattoo, because he can’t think of what else to say, and really, it’s what makes the most sense in the moment.

Louis grabs a handful of tissues and gets the messiest of the spots off of their bodies before Harry reluctantly gets up to switch the light off, quickly climbing back into bed pulling the comforter around the two of them. Louis wraps his arms around Harry, bringing their faces close together once more.

“Can I say it?” he whispers into the dark, against Harry’s chin.

“What?” Harry murmurs, starting to fall asleep, with the emotional toll of the day and his recent orgasm already getting to him.

“That I love you.”

Harry nods against the top of Louis’ head, slipping his arms around Louis’ waist.

“I love you, Harry.”

“I love you, Louis.”

And it’s as if everything that Harry has been feeling, and Louis too, probably, in the past five or so hours, is wrapped up in those six words. They just breathe each other in for a while, and Harry starts to feel his own breathing level off as he drifts away.

“Harry?” Louis’ voice comes through again, as if pushing its way in, shining distantly through a fog.

“Mmm.” He tries to focus, but it’s too warm, too comfortable, and too satisfying to fully come back to his senses. He usually can’t sleep well this wrapped up in someone, every limb intertwined, as sweaty as he is. But maybe his brain is compensating for the weeks spent away from Louis’ body like this.

“I don’t want to let you slip away ever again. I’m going to work at it this time, work so hard, pull my own weight and then some.” Louis’ voice cuts through sharply then, ringing in Harry’s ears and sounding like a sweet melody that he never wants to stop hearing.

Harry holds him closer and places a kiss on his forehead. “Can’t think now,” he admits, not wanting to sound like he’s brushing Louis and his midnight confessions off. “But me too. Love you so much.”

The last sensation that graces his mind before he finally succumbs to sleep is that of Louis – Louis’ fingers pressing lightly into his back and shoulders, Louis’ hair dusting his nose, Louis’ mouth, breathing hotly on his neck, and Louis body, lined up against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One quick note/apology: I fucked up at one point in the beginning where I/Harry said that there was an out footballer. I got my timeline messed up in the beginning and forgot that I was writing for 2012 and not 2014. So I went back to chapter 4, I think it was, and had to change a bit of the dialogue where Harry and Zayn are talking in the writing lab. Otherwise it doesn't change anything.
> 
> Also: The next update should come Monday, probably, possibly Sunday, because I won't have my computer with me for the next few days. That's technically the last chapter, then an epilogue, and then I decided to tack Louis' POV on after that so it doesn't confuse anyone as a separate oneshot. (I also have a plot jotted down for a sequel that I'm seriously considering doing, although it would be a bit shorter than this and updates would come more like every week, because I'm going back to school soon.)


	22. Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I am so sorry. This took hella long to get out, with a bunch of things happening that cut off my writing time at night (and then when I did have time things like Harry losing his chill in Philadelphia or Louis getting inked happened...). BUT at least this one's super long, right?
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this one and that it ties up most of the loose ends! One more super fluffy epilogue left.

Harry wakes up to someone nuzzling his neck, arms wrapped around his waist, and yes, a warm body is definitely pressed up against him. He opens his eyes as the previous night starts to come back to him and he remembers that that warm body is _Louis_. He giggles when his eyes are fully open and he finds the man, awake and cuddly, pressing kisses along his face and neck.

“Morning, Haz.”

“Hi Louis,” he responds breathily.

“I gotta get going. Morning practice and all,” Louis says with a regretful pout.

Harry whines and hooks his ankle around Louis’ calf. “I just woke up.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I have to go do this, it’s only for a bit, if you wanted we could –”

Harry presses a hand to his mouth. “Lou, I’m joking, don’t worry.”

Louis shoves him playfully as he pulls away.

“Is Liam here?” Harry asks as he sits up.

Louis looks to the bed next to them pointedly.

“No, then. He must’ve stayed with Niall.”

“We should buy him a fruit basket,” Louis declares cheekily. He stands up and starts looking around the room for his discarded clothing.

“What, and attach a note all, ‘Thank you for vacating Harry’s bedroom so we could have crazy hot makeup sex?’” He thinks that it might be a good thing to acknowledge where they’re at, what with the freshly reconciled relationship, instead of automatically jumping back to where they were in December.

Louis slips his jumper on and crawls back over to Harry, peppering kisses up his neck again and nibbling on his earlobe. “Mmhmm. And God, that was the best makeup sex ever. No, scratch that, it was the best _sex_ ever, full-stop, fuck, Hazza, we were so _loud_ last night, no one on this floor is going to be able to look at us the same way ever again.”

Harry whines again before looping his arms around Louis’ neck and pulling him in for a kiss, morning breath be damned. Louis responds for a few moments before he reluctantly gets back up.

“Are you busy today?” he asks as he pulls his pants and jeans on.

Harry shrugs. “Not really. Just my calculus final in two days, but I’m feeling pretty ready for that.”

“Oh, on that.” Louis looks up, making eye contact with Harry as he buttons his jeans. “How’ve the rest of your exams been?”

“Really good, actually.”

Louis bends back over to Harry and kisses him on the head. “That’s great.”

Harry smiles and feels the warmth inside him grow at the intimate and loving gesture. “How about you?”

“I’m feeling confident, I think. Obviously I’m no Zayn, or you, but definitely passing.” Louis steps over to the mirror and grabs a brushing, fixing his hair from the night and their activity before.

“Can I see you later?” Harry asks, a bit shyly – probably due to the fact that he’s still half-asleep.

Louis sets the brush down, tousles his hair a little, and turns to face him. “Yeah, I want that. Let’s get dinner, the five of us? I think that would be nice, if you want to.”

Harry nods enthusiastically. “Please.”

At that point, there comes a knock on the front door, Liam’s voice saying, “Fair warning, opening up,” and the key turning in the lock. Liam steps in, clad in a t-shirt and joggers, and his face splits into a mile-wide grin when he sees Louis leaning against Harry’s vanity.

“Morning, lads!” he greets cheerfully, crossing over to his side of the room and thumping Louis on the shoulder while he does so.

Harry raises a hand in greeting and falls back onto his pillow. He just caught a glance at the time on his phone, and it’s only nine, thus meaning that it’s far too early to be awake for good.

“Morning, morning,” Louis says, pulling his shoes on. “Sorry and thank you for the monopolization of your room last night, but I have to get out of your hair now anyway.”

“Football?” Liam asks, pulling his laptop off of his desk and into bed with him.

Louis nods. “You got it.” He crosses over to Harry, who sits up quickly for him, a third time and lifts his chin with a finger, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. Harry threads his hand through the back of his hair and holds tightly for a moment before letting go. It’s telling that Liam doesn’t even cough like he normally would, and while Harry should maybe be a little embarrassed, he’s mostly just appreciative for the support.

“See you later,” Louis says softly, inches away from Harry’s face. He clears his throat as he pulls back and grabs his coat before heading to the door. “Dinner, Liam?”

Liam shoots him a thumbs up and a little wave as Louis leaves.

Once the door shuts, Harry flops back down on bed, limbs splayed out. Liam places his laptop to his side and grins over at him expectantly. “Well? You never did answer any of my texts.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, a grin that probably looks crazy, loopy, and lovestruck. “I was busy.”

Liam chuckles. “Yeah, I can tell. I’m happy for you, Harry.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“This wasn’t what you wanted to hear yesterday, but it was kind of how we, Zayn, Niall, ‘n me, were hoping it would turn out.”

Harry yawns, rolling onto his side and curling back up in his blanket. “Well, you knew shit that I didn’t yet.”

“Mmhmm. Hey, have you looked at…problem forty-two yet?” Liam pages through his textbook with one hand and scrolls down his laptop with the other.

Harry closes his eyes, not wanting to deal with this right now. He’s grateful that he threw his all into his work while he did, because for the time being he just wants to sleep in this little bubble of euphoria and love that he’s in. “Not yet. Later.”

Liam laughs again. “Okay, I’ll give you that, loverboy.”

Harry just grunts in response.

Just as he’s about to doze off again, his phone buzzes with a text. He goes to read it, and finds that it’s a random number. His heart sinks as he reads the message and realizes who it’s from, though, and that it isn’t so random after all. _For the record I went out the front entrance for once and got five double takes from random freshers. :) :) :) See you in a few hours. <3 _

He forgot that he technically doesn’t have Louis’ number anymore. He remedies that quickly, though, trying to push the guilt out of his mind (as Louis had clearly kept his) by saving the contact as _Louis <333_, turning over a new leaf.

And time passes, and Harry and Louis begin again. It doesn’t take long for them to become comfortable with each other, and for Harry, at least, molding into Louis, talking to Louis, and feeling Louis again proves to be second nature. It seems that Louis feels similarly.

They begin to build back up to where they were, emotionally. Louis apologizes a lot and Harry tells him that it’s okay.

It takes Louis a while to be completely open in public, and he apologizes for that too, but Harry keeps insisting that he understands. Three days after that talk, and when they go to meet their friends at the pub after Louis’ last final, Louis grabs Harry’s hand on the walk over. Harry squeezes, and he can feel Louis’ eyes darting around, wondering who’s staring and who isn’t. Not many people notice, Harry thinks, but he knows that it feels like the world is watching for him. Louis doesn’t drop Harry’s hand, though, and by the time they come up on the pub and run into Niall, he has a grin split across his face. Harry thinks that his hand is warmer than before, and in a good way.

Four days after that, and the day that the second term begins, they’re exiting the cafeteria and walking hand-in-hand after grabbing lunch in between lectures. They’re starting to get more than a few stares now, and Harry figures that it’s probably because of the fact that they’re spending an inordinate amount of time with each other compared to the last term and how they spend one-on-one time with their other friends…even more than Harry and Liam or Louis and Zayn. Also, they’re still holding hands a lot.

People are probably talking. Louis doesn’t mention it, so neither does Harry.

“When’s your next lecture?” Louis asks, dropping Harry’s hand to button his coat up.

“Um…” Harry checks his phone. “Half an hour.”

“Okay.” Louis smiles and drags him down to sit on a nearby bench with him.

“It’s cold!” Harry pouts.

Louis stretches out, getting comfortable. “Yeah, but it kinda makes you feel alive, too. You can feel everything more, you’re hyper aware…”

Harry snickers and drops his mouth to Louis’ ear. “Sounds like what you said last night,” he murmurs, just low enough in his register so he knows that it’ll cause the hairs on the back of Louis’ neck to rise and make him shudder.

He does, and pulls away from Harry sharply, swatting him playfully and trying to regain some composure. “Your birthday is on Friday,” he says, changing the topic quickly.

Harry grins. “It is.”

“Did you have any plans? I was going to ask you about something but I don’t want to get in the way of anything you had in mind, or –” He’s clasping his hands together nervously and Harry cuts him off to put him out of his misery.

“Niall and I were talking and we were thinking just pubs. But that’s not a big deal, or anything special, and it’s not like we need all night for it, so please, what were you going to say?”

“Okay, well, I can probably get out of it, or get out early, if you don’t want to, but there’s a dinner that night, for football, for the start of the next set. And it’s one we can bring someone to. It’s not always, you know, the person you’re seeing, like I brought Zayn last year and it wasn’t weird, and I don’t know if everyone on the team is bringing someone, but if you wanted to go…you could be my date. I wouldn’t introduce you just as a friend.” He looks like he’s holding his breath for Harry’s response.

Harry breaks into a grin and squeezes Louis’ hands. “I think that would be great.”

“Really? You don’t mind spending your birthday at a stuffy football event?”

Harry shrugs. He wants to say that he spent all of last term _wishing_ that he could spend his evenings at stuffy football events, but he lets it slide for the moment. “It sounds like fun, Lou. A chance to suit up. And what time do you think it’ll end?”

“Ten, ten-thirty, maybe.” Louis is grinning now, too.

“Right.” Harry nods. “So we go to the pubs with everyone else after that. That’s perfect, really, thank you for asking me.”

“Yeah,” Louis answers, still holding on to Harry’s hands. He looks like he wants to lean in for a kiss, or something. Harry waits, blinking and sitting still. The quad is starting to fill up more now, with students milling about in between lectures and after lunch.

After a few more moments of staring and what’s probably an internal battle, Louis loops his arms around Harry’s neck and kisses him eagerly and without abandon. Harry kisses back, just as hard, and soon enough, they’re full-on snogging on the bench. Harry presses his hands into Louis’ waist, pulling him closer, and feels Louis’ hands squeeze into his back. He licks further into Louis’ mouth, tasting him everywhere. The warmth of his body is such a sharp and delicious contrast to the cold around them that Harry doesn’t ever want this to end.

And then his phone goes off with an incoming text message, and the sound startles the both of them so much that they break apart to catch their breath.

Harry thought that Louis might be blushing, flustered, unsure how to act now. He has such an air of self-assuredness, though, with the way that he slings his arm across the backrest of the bench and watches Harry take his phone out through hooded lids, and Harry is so proud.

The message was from Liam, and all it contains is a picture he took of himself giving a thumbs up and a huge smile. Harry scoffs, rolls his eyes, and passes the phone to Louis, who reacts similarly.

Harry scans the quad for Liam, but it seems that he’s disappeared. His eyes light up on someone else, though, and it looks like they spotted him first. All of a sudden Harry’s heart races and he isn’t sure what’s about to happen, only knowing that this person, this _arsehole_ is walking in his general direction and Louis is slipping his phone back into his pocket for him, and he just tries to busy himself with acting natural, because really, why should he acknowledge him? So Harry just settles further into his seat and fusses with Louis’ hair, which has fallen into his face in the past few minutes.

Jeff, of course, stops a meter or two in front of them, two guys trailing behind him, looking impatient. He looks perpetually sullen and moody, and, really, it doesn’t suit him very well at all. Harry supposes that that’s what being a bigot will do to you.

Also, Harry had been under the impression that he’d already graduated from secondary school. Whoops.

“Hey,” he says, looking right at Harry.

He can feel Louis tense up right next to him, his arm tightening around his shoulders. Harry just scrunches his face together and gives Jeff his very best “The fuck do you want?” look that he can muster.

“Are you –”

Harry doesn’t let him get a word out, because he doesn’t really have much of a right at all to be asking Harry questions about his life in any way, shape, or form. “Long time no see, yeah?” he starts. “I’m gonna be honest with you, I have no idea how you’re doing or where you’re at in your journey of ‘convictions,’ because I really don’t care. Me, though? I’m doing fantastic, and you look miserable, so you can fuck right off. Oh, and have you met my boyfriend, Louis? Captain of our team. He’s probably going to be a professional footballer.” Harry takes Louis’ hand and stands up, ready to walk him to the hall where his next lecture is. He raises a hand to Jeff in farewell and starts to walk away, Louis beside him.

It might’ve been a bit much, that monologue, but it included a lot of things he had been wanting to verbalize for months now, so he doesn’t feel all that bad or weird about it.

“Harry!” Jeff calls after him, and he thinks that that might be the first time that he’s used his name.

“What?” Harry whips around, ready to be done with him.

“Okay,” is all he says, holding his hands out as if taken aback, and then he turns on his own and walks away, his friends trailing him.

Harry doesn’t know what to make of that. It isn’t an “Hey, I was an arse, sorry for making your life hell for a bit,” it isn’t an, “It’s been a while and I’ve grown and I want to apologize,” hell, it isn’t even a “Fuck off to you, too.” It’s just an “Okay.”

Louis tugs on his hand. “That’s the first time you’ve talked to him since…”

“Since that one night back in October,” Harry says, turning to face Louis again and continue walking.

“That was brave of you,” Louis murmurs.

“I think I needed it.”

“You’re probably done with him now, too,” Louis points out. “Loose ends tied up, and all.”

Yes, Louis is right. Jeff knows where he’s at and that he’s not a victim of anything. Harry has nothing left to say to him, and even though he _technically_ had the last word, Harry’s pretty sure that he got the last actual point in. And that’s that.

*

Harry wakes up to a ringing phone. He fumbles blindly, his hand finally grasping it, and slides the call open. “Hullo?”

“Happy birthday, baby brother!” Gemma’s voice calls through in a sing-song tone.

He smiles despite his desire for sleep. “Thanks, Gems…What time is it?”

Her laugh comes in on the other end, warm and bright. “It’s ten, don’t you have any lectures?”

“Not till one.”

“Oh, well, you shouldn’t sleep the day away anyway!”

He sits up, groaning, and sees a donut and note lying on his desk. Liam, of course. He has an early class and must have left it for Harry. “Aw, Liam left me breakfast.”

“You’re so old,” Gemma says absentmindedly from the other end.

“Thanks a lot. Because you’re the youngest person I know.”

She laughs again. “What’re you doing today?”

“Um, just lectures. Then, uh, Louis has, like, a football dinner networking thing. We’re going to that. And then the pubs with everyone.” He told Gemma that he was back with Louis the day after they reconciled. He felt that he owed it to her, to be completely upfront about everything, especially considering how much she had helped him work through the split. And he wanted her to know. She was skeptical at first, but he took the time to reassure her that their relationship dynamic really was set to be different this time around. She came around one evening when he had texted her a picture of the two of them looking dead and out, studying in the library, with Harry kissing Louis’ jaw. They were “cute,” apparently, and also very studious, according to her.

Still, he felt like she’s still on edge and ready to jump back into protective mama bear mode at any minute.

All she responds, though, is a light, “Suiting up?”

He breathes a sigh of relief that he didn’t realize he was holding in. “Yeah,” he says with a grin. “’S fancy and all. Although apparently the drinks they serve are quite shit and they cut you off after three glasses of champagne. But that’s what the pubs are for, I guess.”

“Have fun, Harry, okay?”

“I will.” He’s out of bed now, reading what Liam left him.

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!_

_We’ll see you when you’re out of lectures and trying to decide which shirt to wear with your suit (although Louis will obviously fuck you anyway) if not before – btw when do you eat lunch we still don’t have schedules memorized and shit text us. Have fun and don’t pay too much attention to your professors and welcome to the last year of teenage-hood._

_Liam + Niall_

_(P.S. I bought the donut Harry, woke up early to go get it and everything, don’t let Liam say otherwise also my name should be listed first I tried. –N)_

He can’t help but grin.

“Happy birthday again. ‘M gonna call Mum to let her know that we just talked, she didn’t want to wake you.”

“Thanks. And you weren’t so kind?”

“It’s my job, silly. Talk to you later!”

“Bye, Gemma.”

When he hangs up he sees that he has a new text message from earlier in the morning.

_Louis <333_

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAZZA! I don’t want to wake you because I know you don’t have anything until 1, so I’ll talk to you later today. But I hope you have the best morning ever and I can’t wait to see you tonight. I love you so much. <33333 –Louis_

His stomach flips a little at that.

His day goes nicely, for the most part. He talks to his mother, gets dressed and ends up meeting Liam and Niall for lunch. He walks into his Sociology of the Family lecture and finds that he shares it with Taylor. She wishes him a happy birthday, giving him a quick hug, and he invites her and Chelsea out with them tonight. By the time he’s going back to his room at half four, though, he thinks that he might vomit.

He’s nervous, plain and simple. He doesn’t want to be, but he’s realized that tonight is kind of a big deal for Louis. Harry doesn’t know who’s going to be at the dinner. It isn’t a big one, as far as he knows, just the team and their plus ones, some recruiters, Matthews (oh, God, Harry hasn’t seen him in months, what does he think of him now?), and several Manchester sponsors of the team. He can do it. And Louis can do it too, or else he wouldn’t have asked him to come – that, Harry is sure of.

Still. It’s his first big event, actual event, at all, after coming out of the closet. Do half the people there tonight even know – is this the kind of news that gets passed around? How are they going to act when they see Harry?

He ends up calling Louis as he’s shuffling through his closet, still hours to go before he’s actually heading out, putting his phone on speaker and tossing it onto his bed.

“Harry!”

“Hi, Lou,” he calls out, his head still in his rack of clothes.

“Happy birthday. How are you?”

“Thanks.” He pulls back with two pairs of trousers in one hand and a blazer in the other, laying them gently on his bed. “I wanted to, like, ask, or tell you something.”

“Shoot.”

He blanches. “This might be dumb.”

He can almost hear Louis smiling fondly from the other end. “I promise you that it’s not,” he reassures.

“Okay. Maybe. I guess, just – tonight, like, is it gonna be weird? Not for us. But with other people? Am I gonna mess it up for you?” He bites his lip as he waits for a response, weighing a white button-up in one hand and a black in the other.

“Harry,” Louis breathes. “Listen, I wouldn’t have asked you if I was worried. And now, if that was the case, I wouldn’t have even planned on going.”

Harry breathes a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I am. I don’t know how half of these men think, but I do know that they won’t make either of us uncomfortable there. I’ve met them before, and they’re professional, classy. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yes. Okay.”

“You can still say no, if you’re really uncomfortable. I get it, Haz.”

“No, I’m good.” He sighs, still weighing the shirts in his hands while leaning over the phone, still on his bed. “Hey, Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“White shirt or black?”

Louis laughs brightly. “Um…Black blazer, right?”

“Yes.”

“White, then. The contrast suits you.”

Louis shows up early – seven for the eight o’clock dinner – in a suit nearly identical to Harry’s, except with a blue button-up. It matches his eyes, and his hair is combed back in such a dapper way that Harry nearly swoons once he opens the door. Louis grips his shoulder with one hand – the other behind his back – and leans up to kiss him.

“Happy birthday, love,” he murmurs against Harry’s lips.

“Thank you.” Harry pulls back, smiling as he steps aside to let Louis in. “You look fantastic. You’re a bit early, though. Not that I’m complaining!”

Louis winks and reaches around to give Harry’s bum a squeeze. “You look great too. Nice quiff, by the way.” He walks over and takes a seat on Harry’s bed, holding a wrapped gift out with his just-hidden hand. “Happy birthday. Again.”

Harry blushes but reaches for the package quickly anyway. “Thank you, Louis. You didn’t have to.”

Louis scoffs. “Spare the modesty, Haz, I’m not your great-aunt or whoever.”

“Okay.” Harry smiles and sits down next to Louis, starting to rip the paper off right away. He tosses the wrapping to the ground and turns the book over in his hand. It’s a dark blue, navy, Harry thinks, with a white anchor embossed into the top and the quote “Love anchors the soul” printed underneath it.

Louis coughs and shifts on the bed. “Your other one is getting pretty full. So now you have another one, for when you run out of room, if you like it. And, um, that’s a quote from the Bible on the front, but that’s not why I picked it, sorry if it’s a little weird, I realized after, but it just sounded very…you.”

Harry thumbs over the indents on the cover of the book. He leans over and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “This is really, really thoughtful Louis. I am gonna need a new book soon. Thank you. Thank you so much, I love you.”

Now Louis blushes. He reaches to his side and pulls another gift out, handing it to Harry. “One more.”

“Loouuuu,” Harry playfully protests with a grin as he sets the journal aside and unwraps the smaller and softer packet, pulling a dark green scarf out. It’s soft, silky, and a beautiful olive color.

“Okay, so it’s not autumn, so you might have to wait to use it,” Louis starts. “But it matches your eyes and you always said that you loved the season. Again, like, I just thought of you when I saw it.”

Harry turns to him and grins, rolling the scarf up and tying it across his head as if it were a headband. His curls have always gotten in his face from time to time, and while he doesn’t like to cut them, he could never think of an alternative. This one appears to be staring him right in the face. “Whaddaya think?”

Louis’ eyes crinkle and his lips turn up into a fond smile. “You’re so…you’re so adorable. I think it looks great.”

Harry giggles as he slides the scarf back off. “Not for tonight, though, obviously. Later.” He leans across his bed and sets the gifts on his dresser before turning around and grabbing his phone, looking at the time. “When should we go? It’s 7:10, how far is it?”

Louis shrugs. “It’s just a few miles into the city, a private dining hall. So in twenty minutes, I think, we can go out and I’ll hail a cab.”

Harry nods, tossing his phone aside. He can pick up on the glint in Louis’ eyes and knows that he didn’t come half an hour early just to give Harry two gifts. Wordlessly, he kicks his shoes and shrugs his blazer off before sliding further up on the bed, sitting in the middle and waiting for Louis expectantly. Louis gapes at him for a few moments before following suit and crawling up by him.

Harry smirks. “What can we do in twenty minutes?”

“Probably anything and everything,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s neck, already starting to kiss and mark him up. “I really want you right now.”

Harry tries to laugh, but it gets lost in his throat as he feels Louis’ hands run up and down his legs, stopping just short of his crotch. “Not even saving anything for later?”

Louis pulls back, face flushed. “Going to be honest, we’ll probably be too pissed to get it up later, Harold, and if we can, we won’t be in much of a state to make it _good_.”

“Mmm.” Harry noses his face through Louis’ hair. “Still. Only twenty. Let me suck you off.”

Louis scoffs and pulls back, looking affronted. “It’s your birthday, you get the blowjob.”

“Nope.” Harry pops the P as he straddles Louis’ knees and begins unbuttoning his trousers. “It’s my birthday, and I want your dick in my mouth.”

Louis’ face contorts into a mixture of lust and frustration and he drops back onto the bed, lying flat for Harry to work on. He gets Louis’ trousers down past his knees along with his pants, and shoves his shirt up a bit, careful not to wrinkle it too bad. He just stares down, admiring Louis’ half-hard, glorious, and shining cock. “Been too long since I blew you,” he mumbles, taking it in hand and slowly starting to stroke it.

Louis makes a bit of a strangled noise, adjusting his hips into a more comfortable position. “Three days, if I recall correctly, Harry.”

“Right. Too long.” He leans down then, taking the tip of Louis’ dick into his mouth and swirling around it with his tongue. He hears Louis come undone ahead of him, his little moans and pants and whimpers causing a twitch in Harry’s pants. And, Christ, his dick too, hardening up in his mouth as he slowly starts to sink down onto it, enjoying the salty and full taste as he stretches his lips across it.

He comes up, nudging at the area with his nose and pressing light kisses into the inside of Louis’ thighs.

“Harry…” his voice comes, light and needy.

“Yeah?” He nibbles further around his legs, balls, the base of his cock, thoroughly enjoying the way that Louis’ muscles are tightening up each time that Harry moves, the way that his cock is basically fully hard at this point – all of the ways in which Louis’ body is demonstrating how aroused he is in this moment.

Louis only moans in response as Harry licks up the underside of his cock from top to bottom.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs before dipping back down and taking him further than before. He sucks, feeling his cheeks hollow out against Louis’ cock, and braces himself on the bed on either side of Louis’ torso. He sinks further down on his cock until he feels his nose nudge against Louis’ pelvis, his sparse hairs tickling him.

“Fuck, Harry,” he hears from a place that’s growing further and further away.

Harry pulls up after a few more seconds, sputtering for breath and realizing that it wouldn’t be in the best form to show up to the dinner without a voice. He smirks up at Louis again as he takes his cock in his hand and starts to pump quickly. Louis fucks into his fist, and Harry rolls his thumb over the tip, enjoying each moan that Louis emits as he does so.

“Like it?” Harry asks nonchalantly, although on the inside he’s fighting to keep his composure rather than take Louis down fully in his mouth again and rut against the mattress. These trousers may not be as tight as his skinnies, but they’re certainly constricting him now.

“God,” Louis breathes, clearly struggling for words. “Never gonna…get used to this. You always rile me up so well.”

And, well, Harry can’t help but puff his chest with a bit of pride at that. He drops his hand and dries it on his comforter before sucking Louis into his mouth again, bobbing up and down quickly.

“Harry,” Louis moans, thrusting up into his face ever so slightly. “Harry, _shit_.”

He takes it as a compliment and continues to suck and lick and swirl and bob, enjoying every second of the act. God, he loves this so, so much. He loves everything with Louis, of course. He loves kissing Louis, feeling their tongues slide together magnetically. He loves touching Louis’ body – his abs, arse, arms, and cock. He loves Louis taking him down, sucking him so tightly that he can’t think straight. He loves feeling Louis finger him open before fucking him, either gently or roughly. He loves fucking _Louis_ , that night in London when he rode him like crazy still a standout in his mind. Oh, oh, oh, and he loves feeling Louis’ hand strike against his soft and pale arse, marking it up red and leaving it stinging for hours after.

But this? Louis’ cock in his mouth, filling his face up so that he can’t say a word and so every moan he makes is just swallowed up into it all? Louis in his mouth so he’s pressed right up against him, as far as he can go? The taste, the smell, the sight, it’s all so intoxicating.

He might not be able to pick a favorite out of everything that he and Louis do in bed together, but blowing him is certainly near the top of the list.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as he feels Louis’ hands work their way through his hair, tugging gently as he usually does. Harry just rocks up, sliding his hands up the bed so they grasp at Louis’ arms, squeezing gently and lovingly. He keeps going, lifting up so his mouth is just barely on his dick, then rolling his lips over the top before sliding back down, until Louis _really_ tugs on his hair and he knows the message that he’s trying to send.

“Harry…fuck, just, gonna come, I can’t…”

Harry just sinks halfway down his cock and sucks as he feels Louis come down his throat, pulling him through it. Louis is moaning loudly, still working through Harry’s hair, and when Harry finally pulls off and wipes his mouth, he finds Louis’ face in his pillows. The man’s eyes are closed and his head tilted back as if he were still coming.

Harry crawls up to the head of the bed, curling in next to Louis and kissing him up his collarbones, neck, and face. “How d’you feel?” he mumbles into his ear softly, his hand smoothing his shirt back down.

“Mmgh,” Louis grunts out, turning his head to the right to face Harry. He opens his eyes and smiles. “Real good. That was really fucking good.”

“Glad.” Harry continues to pepper kisses across his face and neck, slowly rutting against his side. He’s so turned on right now he knows that he could come from that alone, hard and quickly, but soon enough he feels Louis’ hands snake down between their bodies and unbutton his trousers. Harry whines in protest.

“No,” Louis insists, shoving his trousers and pants down quickly. “Don’t come in your slacks, unless you want to change.”

Well, it seems as though his senses are coming back to him. He wraps a hand around Harry and starts to jerk him off quickly, connecting their mouths and working their tongues together. Harry knows that Louis can taste his come from his mouth, and the thought of that only has him fucking into his hand all the faster.

“Lou…” he whines, feeling his orgasm start to curl in him quickly.

Louis reaches over him, snatching a handful of tissues, and the sudden movement of Louis rolling slightly on top of him has Harry coming fast and hard. He throws his head back on the pillow, riding it out, and he can feel Louis slowly start to taper off his strokes and begin to wipe him off with the tissues.

“You good?” Louis murmurs.

Harry nods mutely.

Louis just smirks and sits up straight, slowly and obviously licking the traces of come on his hand away before drying them on a tissue.

“God.” Harry lets out, rubbing his thighs slowly to relax himself further.

Louis tosses the tissues into the bin and stands up, reluctantly buttoning his trousers. “Time, Haz?”

Harry stretches his legs and arms, hearing joints pop, before he sits up and snatches his phone from the end of the bed. “Yeah, we can go now. Almost half seven.” He drops his phone and stands up as well, getting ready to leave. Fully dressed now, he crosses to his mirror and sorts out his hair, grabbing his brush and fixing the quiff.

Louis comes up behind him and puts his hands on his shoulders, pressing a light kiss to his neck. It feels domestic and beautiful and Harry wants more of it.

They arrive at the restaurant only two minutes late, having been stopped in Manchester traffic in the cab for a bit. Louis takes Harry’s hand tightly as they come up on the front door of the restaurant – a rather nice place within a hotel – and lets the concierge know who they’re with. They’re led down a short hallway, and soon enough Louis is pushing the doors open into a hall set up for a dinner, tens of people in suits and dresses milling about.

Louis turns around to give him a quick glance and reassuring smile. Harry’s immediately at ease and gives his hand a squeeze.

“All right?” Louis asks, leaning into his ear.

Harry swallows and nods. “’M good.”

Louis beams even brighter.

Harry _is_ a bit nervous, but Louis’ reaction is, to be honest, calming him immensely. Louis wants him here. Louis wants him to be a part of this world, and he finally can be. They make their way into the room and toward the table with two free seats, otherwise full of Louis’ teammates and some of their girlfriends.

Adam jumps up immediately, smiling widely and pulling Louis into a brotherly hug before turning to Harry with the same. “How’s it going? Long time no see.”

Harry claps him on the back. “It’s good, mate. Really good.”

He greets the rest of the table, meets the people who he doesn’t really know, and soon enough Louis is demanding that their seats be saved and not to let anyone take them and dragging Harry off to another part of the room. That was nice, Harry thinks. None of the lads acted like there was anything off with him being there, present tonight, and they all talked to him like they had at the last practice he’d attended. The girlfriends that were there were completely relaxed with him as well.

Louis pulls up to a group of older men and steps in, politely interrupting and greeting them. He beckons Harry closer a second later and smiles as he introduces them. “This is Harry, my boyfriend. Harry, Mr. Jameson and Mr. Smith, two very generous donors to the university’s football club. And this is Charles, the recruiter I’ve been working with all year.”

The first two men nod politely at Harry and although he might be projecting, he’s fairly certain they look a bit uncomfortable. At least they don’t say anything, though, and are politely distant once they shake his hand. Charles, on the other hand, rather than taking Harry’s hand, pulls him into a warm embrace after exclaiming, “So this is the Harry I’ve been hearing about for the past few weeks! It’s very nice to meet you, son.”

Harry pulls back with an appreciative smile and can feel Louis’ eyes on them. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you as well, sir, I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

He stays in that circle of conversation for a few more minutes, letting Louis be his guide in terms of where to go and when to say something, until he feels a hand on his shoulder and is gently pulled away. He turns around and is faced with Matthews.

Harry’s heart drops a bit, because they really haven’t talking about Louis’ current relationship with his coach all that much, and he doesn’t know where they, let alone he and Matthews, stand, until he sees that the man has a softer expression on his face than Harry’s seen yet.

“Evening, Harry,” he greets, and they step away from Louis and the other men.

“Hi,” he says, unsure of what else is really all that appropriate.

“Do you mind if we step to the side for a few minutes? I’d like to talk to you.”

Harry shrugs, looking around. He doesn’t seem angry, and it’s not like he can start chewing Harry out in a room full of people. “Sure, that’s okay.”

They walk over to the corner of the room with the bar and Matthews faces him dead-on again, his face still an odd balance between serious and kind. “It’s nice to see you here, Harry,” he starts, and Harry has to physically restrain the breath of relief that’s sitting behind his lips.

Harry nods, unsure exactly how to respond. “Thanks,” he says, almost as a question.

“I wasn’t the kindest to you last term. I apologize for that.” He spits it out as if he’s doing it so quickly that he can’t take it back. “But thank you.”

Harry blinks up at him, confused. “Why? For what?”

“Louis has been so much happier, on the whole, over the past few months. He was a happy person before, don’t get me wrong, but in a different way. Having you in his life is good for him, I think, and after I came around recently I was happy to hear that you’d patched things up a few weeks ago.”

Harry nods again, smiling despite himself. This is a good thing, he thinks. Better than he could have hoped for, or expected, actually. “Thanks,” he says again.

Matthews actually smiles this time and cuffs Harry on the shoulder gently. “It’s the tattoo, I think. Never understood those, getting them and stuff. I know his flatmate has a lot. But he started last term, well, you know that, you were there that day. Anyway, over holiday he got this big piece, you know the one I’m talking about?”

Harry nods, unsure what he’s getting at. Maybe he’s just talking about Louis like father-figures are supposed to and trying to relate to Harry or something. That’s probably it. It’s a bit nice, actually.

“Those words. ‘It is what it is.’ Can’t imagine how that must’ve felt, the needles right there, but I guess that’s part of it. He was a bit different after that, in a good way. I mean, he was different the day he stormed into my house and told me off for everything, took it all into his own hands like I should have let him do from the beginning, but then a few days after that he went and got himself tattooed again. Then he came back, again, different. He was very accepting of whatever may come his way after that, with anything. That was…it was personal development. It was something very special, and humbling to see. So thank you for your part in it, Harry. You certainly weren’t the be-all-end-all of it, but I’d say that you were at least a big part of the catalyst. That’s important. He’s wearing coats now, too, funnily enough. That’s different.”

He stops, and Harry’s a bit blown away by his monologue. He kind of gets what Louis meant now, about his relationship with him, and he understands why even though they had incredibly hostile words together a few weeks ago he hasn’t written him off. It’s like when your parent fucks up, he thinks, fucks up majorly, but they’re still _there_. And that’s important. So Harry holds his hand out to shake David’s properly. “Thank you for saying that,” he says. “I understand what you mean.”

The next hour or so goes quite smoothly, in Harry’s mind. He ends up back at their actual dinner table before Louis does – he’s still busy doing whatever networking things he has to do to try and snag a contract, or something – and takes his seat by Adam, falling into the conversation of the table. Some of the girls try and rope him into their “WAG group,” as they call it, but that’s all a bit awkward considering that, despite Louis’ initial joke about the matter how many months back, Harry is neither a wife nor a girlfriend.

“Let’s go for WAP,” Louis says, appearing behind them and taking a seat at the table, two flutes of champagne in his hand. “Doesn’t sound too bad. Partners.” He smiles at Harry as he settles into his chair and passes him one of the drinks.

The girl who was talking when he came in shrugs with a grin and gives him a thumbs-up before going back to her friend’s conversation.

“Enjoying your night?” Harry asks, leaning in to a near-whisper and relishing the fact that he’s able to do so.

Louis sighs sarcastically and grabs a roll from the center of the table. “Business as usual,” he mutters. “Much rather be here.”

Harry’s heart swells at that and he can almost ignore the gagging noises and gesture coming from Adam as he leans across him and toward Louis.

“Oi!” Louis shouts, swatting his teammate on the head. “Season’s not over yet, I’m still your captain. Also, I’d rather be sitting with you too, you twat, and you know that.”

Harry snorts through his champagne.

After dinner and more talking and in and out appearances on Louis’ part – although it is so, so different than New Year’s Eve, with Louis popping in and out more frequently than ever and always leaving him with a chaste kiss on the cheek – the clock strikes half ten and Harry feels someone tugging on his sleeve from where he is at the dessert bar. (Yes, they were cut off after three glasses again.)

“We can go now, if you’re ready,” Louis says from behind him, and Harry turns to find him bright-eyed and clearly ready to get a move on to the pub.

Harry nods eagerly and he gives a quick goodbye to the part of the team he was with before they take their leave.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Harry says, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as they step outside. Louis just slips an arm around his waist and pulls him closer with a light smile on his face as he looks up at him.

“Let me keep you warm, then.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he leans down to kiss him. He can feel the bright headlights of the cab shine toward them as it pulls up to the curb. “Sap,” he whispers against Louis’ lips. “And I love it.”

The car horn honks and they quickly shuffle into the backseat. Harry curls into Louis, pretending to shrink himself, for the entirety of the fifteen-minute cab ride.

“IT’S THE BIRTHDAY BOY!” Niall’s already incredibly inebriated voice rings through the pub as Harry and Louis creak the door open and step inside the loud and flashing bright establishment and cross into the coat closet to tag and hang their coats and blazers.

He runs up to them as they start toward the bar, a shot in each hand. “We got here early,” he slurs. “Because alcohol. You two –” hiccup “Aren’t –” hiccup “Drunk enough yet.”

They each shrug and take the drink, downing it quickly.

“Fuck!” Harry sputters with a sudden urge to vomit. “You ordered me one of Lou’s nasty things.”

Louis has an equally disgusted look on his face as he passes the empty shot glass back to Niall. “And mine was fucking tropical smoothie fluffy mango shit or whatever, you mixed us up, Horan.”

Harry pouts, watching the glass meant for him start to disappear as Niall starts back toward the bar. “Smoothie? Alcohol smoothie? Get me another, Niall.”

“Since it’s your birthday, I’ll let the ‘please’ slide,” his friend sighs, sliding onto a bar stool. He calls the bartender over and asks for another round for the three of them. “And it’s not a smoothie, he’s exaggerating.”

Harry can feel the effects of the shot, however nasty it was, start to mix with the champagne from earlier. He slings an arm around Louis’ waist and whines. “You liiieeeed,” he drawls.

Louis just huffs, clearly only pretending to be frustrated, and starts to scope out the rest of the establishment. “Where are the others?”

“Oi!” Liam calls from the dance floor, Zayn close by. They make their way to the bar, grabbing new drinks for themselves as well. Chelsea pops up beside Niall, and Taylor is close behind. After that, the night starts to blend together as Harry and Louis take the time to get proper pissed to match their mates. It doesn’t take very long, to say the least.

At one point Harry thinks that Liam convinced the bartender to whip a cupcake out from behind the bar or something, although he may have given her that earlier, and they all sing a very loud and very off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” There’s only one candle but it takes Harry three tries to blow it out. He’s about to go and grab it and, you know, _eat it_ , because that is what one normally does with a birthday cake, except Louis happens to find it the prime moment to grab the back of his head and smash it into the cupcake.

Harry can hear his cackles and the immediate reaction from the rest of their group, from his face full of cake.

“Looouuisssss!” he whines, sitting up and starting toward him, fully intending to make a mess of his boyfriend as well.

He nearly bumps into Liam in the process, who shouts out, “Don’t get it on my head!”

As if on cue, Louis screeches, loud and clear for the whole pub to hear, “Head! Harry’s getting head!”

Harry sputters cake out of his mouth, trying (and absolutely failing) at presenting dignified and indignant and just ends up falling into Louis’ arms as he tries to spread cake over his face. Louis gets there first though, going straight in and swiping a chunk of frosting off with his fingers and then moving to lick and suck them, eliciting a very, very loud groan from everyone around them.

“Louis already _got_ head,” Harry counters with a smirk as he cleans his face up for him.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Zayn says, clunking his head on the bar. He snatches up a napkin from the bartender and shoves it between the two. “Clean yourself up, for real.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at him but complies anyway, tossing the sticky cloth back at him once Louis starts tugging him toward the dance floor by his belt loops.

They go for what seems like hours longer, until they’re sweaty and falling over each other, still keeping up a steady stream of inebriation.

Harry, simply put, feels fantastic, although pretty much any and all ability to form coherent sentences in his mind is pretty much gone at this point. It just feels so good to finally let go, after the stress of exams, Louis drama, and really, just everything. But right now he doesn’t have a care in the world and is only focused on Louis’ beautiful, hot, twisting, throbbing body moving in front of him and the boy’s face, as far gone as he is, but still lit up bright and shining.

The song switches to a ballad and Louis tugs him in, wrapping his arms up on his shoulders. Harry remembers that they came here with other people. Right. Where are they?

Niall and Chelsea are maybe a meter or two away from them, all up on each other, also on the dance floor.

He thinks he remembers Zayn leaving with someone maybe half an hour ago and Louis grabbing his arse as he walked out of the door just to rile Harry and the person Zayn was with up.

Taylor left a bit ago too, actually, and then they’re just left with Liam currently missing in action. Harry should find him before they leave.

“Hazza!” Louis shouts, dragging his attention back to the stunningly fit boy in front of him.

Harry beams down at him. “Love you,” he slurs, because he can.

Louis presses himself into Harry’s chest. “Tired,” he mumbles.

“We can go,” Harry offers, starting to pull them out of the crowd. He cuffs Niall on the shoulder to let him know that they’re leaving as they pass by him. “Tell Liam, we’re leaving,” he strings together while they’re still in earshot.

They stumble into the coat closet, grabbing their suit blazers and coats before spilling outside into the cold air and starting toward one of the few waiting cabs.

Louis has an arm slung around Harry’s waist and Harry currently has his hand shoved deep into one of Louis’ trouser pockets, groping him lightly. They bump into some bloke, probably a student, although Harry doesn’t recognize him. He looks them up and down with an expression of surprise, from what Harry can make out. He doesn’t see any disdain, though.

“Tomlinson?” the lad asks, eyes honing in on the placement of their arms.

“Hiiii Daniels,” Louis slurs, barely stopping. “Sorry, gotta go.”

He shrugs in response. “Have a nice night.”

Louis doesn’t say anything and just continues to tug Harry further toward the road, so Harry turns around and shouts, “Thanks!” in response.

They’re really drunk.

True to Louis’ prediction, they really aren’t in any sort of state for any sort of fucking at all by the time they make it back to his flat. They snog in the hallway for a few minutes until they hear Zayn and whoever he brought back still getting it on in his room, so at that point they trip into Louis’ room and sloppily strip until they’re down to their boxers and climb into bed.

Harry lies flat, limbs spread out, resisting Louis’ nudging him over until he compromises and flings his left arm and leg over Louis’ body. Louis grunts in response.

“Feel weird,” Harry whines, the night’s activities catching up to him.

“Are you gonna puke on my bed?”

“Nooooo.”

He can feel Louis shrug underneath him. “It’s okay if you do, I’ll wash the sheets, just tell me so I can dodge it.”

Harry thinks that’s true love, right there. He preens and drops a sloppy kiss right on Louis’ cheek. “I like you,” he whispers as if it were some secret.

Louis giggles in his face, a hand coming up to brush his curls away. “That’s good, because I like you, too.”

“Mmm,” is all Harry can really manage to get out after that. He feels Louis reach over him to switch the lamp off and as they descend into darkness he already feels himself start to drift off.

“Happy birthday,” Louis murmurs into his ear while pulling him closer.

“You too,” Harry mumbles through barely-open lips, already far gone.

*

Hangovers suck, and Harry basically spends his entire Saturday either in Louis’ bed, on the toilet, or in the shower, save for the twenty minutes he spends making them eggs and toast just to take back to bed. He’s in good company though, that’s for certain, although he has to admit that Louis is a bit cranky and bothersome when hungover, especially when you end up spending all day with him.

Harry still finds it endearing.

By the middle of the day they can actually function properly again, so when Harry ends up back in his own dorm late that night, their combined orgasm tally for the day is at eleven. So maybe he found spending twenty-four hours straight with Louis just a _bit_ more than endearing.

The weekend passes, and by the time Monday rolls around, they’re up and ready to go with the term kickoff for their karaoke night.

He stumbles into the auditorium after getting out of his last lecture to find Louis and Zayn spread out on the stage with textbooks and notes.

“Getting studious, are we?” he asks as he climbs the stairs and drops down between them.

Louis sighs loudly and flips a page. “Home stretch, babe. And Zayn’s just being supportive of me in this difficult time.”

Zayn snorts. “Or, Zayn’s doing his assigned work.”

Harry laughs and shoots Zayn a “What are we going to do with him?” wink before curling into Louis and burying his face in his hair.

“Hazza…” Louis whines, clearly unable to focus on his book anymore.

“Sorry.” Harry sits back up and pats Louis’ back gently.

“Get back in, you dunce,” Louis insists, tugging Harry back into him.

Zayn sighs loudly and slams his book shut. “You two are gross. Gonna get the sound set up.”

Louis drops his head onto the book and turns it to face Harry, puckering his lips. Harry goes in for the kiss only to be met with a very loud wolf-whistle from Liam, who just happens to be entering the auditorium, Niall in tow, in that very moment. Harry flips them off and kisses Louis harder for a few more seconds before pulling away.

Louis just sighs, rolls his eyes, and sits up to stuff his book back in his rucksack.

“Hey,” Liam greets, jumping up the stairs. “We have what, half an hour?”

“Yeah.” Louis stands up to throw his things backstage and Harry holds his hands out for Liam to help him up. “Not that much to do today, though, we’re fine.”

“Are you gonna do it?” Liam asks across Harry, grabbing and hoisting him up.

Harry is about to ask what “it” is when Louis coughs loudly and shoots Liam a pointed look. So maybe he isn’t supposed to know.

Louis pulls the ladder out to one of the usual lights and beckons Harry over. He goes to grab the sides like he normally does, but Louis just shakes his head and gestures up the steps. “You should give it a go.”

Harry pouts. “Why? I don’t want to climb up. Also, staring at your arse while you’re doing it is sort of a ritual now. Tradition, if you will.”

Louis looks affected for a moment, biting his lip and cocking his head just a bit, but he shakes it off quickly and gestures back up. “Up you go, Harold.”

Harry rolls his eyes and climbs. “What’s gotten into you? Also, how do I do this?”

Louis passes him a red gel and explains how to slide it in. “Don’t burn yourself, though, watch that you don’t touch the bulb. Also, someone has to learn how to do it for next year. Not about to allow you lot to let this die out.”

Harry sways as he stretches up on the ladder and Louis has to grab his ankles to ground him again. “Though maybe we should give someone else a go next time. I’m not about to entrust any of them with you wobbling about like this.”

Harry laughs as he climbs down and stumbles into Louis’ arms. “Just you, then?”

“Yep.”

They get to work for real after that, and by the time that the auditorium starts to fill up they’re just finishing. Harry moves to sit in their usual spot stage left once Louis gives them the “good to go” signal, but Liam steers him to a seat in front of center stage.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, sitting down with a confused plop.

Liam just shrugs. “Dunno. Any suggestions?”

“No, I mean why’re you being so weird today?”

Liam holds up his finger as if to make a point. “I wasn’t weird this morning.”

Harry just gives him a look.

Zayn, at the table in front of them, hits a button and the house lights dim, nudging Louis onstage from his spot beside him. Louis jogs up, switching his microphone on and wincing at the light feedback that it emits. “Helllooooo!” he drawls, all smiles. He is, in fact, shining brighter onstage than Harry’s seen yet. “Hope that your exams went well and that the new term had a good kickoff. You’re all here, at least, that’s saying something. Right. Have at it, kids.”

And it’s business as usual, with everyone letting off steam and stress that built up during the exam period and the onslaught of a new term. Niall brings back the Macarena, earning a loud whoop from Chelsea along with a few words that Harry never, ever needed to hear come out of her mouth as directed at his best friend. Taylor gets up there too, covering one of Taylor Swift’s new singles, and Harry’s actually quite impressed.

The night is starting to wind down when Louis steps center stage again and fixes his microphone to a stand, clearing his throat loudly. “So, uh, gonna go back on a deal I’d struck with someone a while ago.” He looks pointedly at Harry, eyebrows raised, and coughs again.

And _oh_ , so that’s what this is about. It seems that Louis has finally found a song that he’s willing to sing for the crowd. (Harry was still looking for the right one to subject him to, but it appears that he’s been beat.) Harry grins with what he hopes is a daring look on his face and kicks back further in his seat to enjoy whatever this may be.

“So yes, this is a night for the history books, Louis Tomlinson is going to open his mouth for the first time since Year 11 and try to string some notes together that won’t make all of your ears fall off. And if they do, it never leaves this room, do you all hear me?”

The crowd breaks into laughter and Louis has to calm them down again with his hands. “Okay, okay, we get it, I’m funny. Um, this song isn’t like a cover or anything, I just got Niall here to record the instrumental and shit on his guitar, and technically most of this song is kind of Liam’s, we all put stuff into it, but I took a lot of what we had and worked it into what you’re about to hear, and after this I’ll just pass both versions on to him and he can pick from what he likes…if he ever needs it. Okay, and I’m going to stop rambling now, play the track and put me out of my misery, please, Zayn. Here’s what I call _Strong_.”

Oh. Oh…oh. Louis starts, and it’s verses from the song they were all working on and still didn’t have a title for, picked and chosen and formed into another piece. And it works so, so very well this way. Harry isn’t sure if he should be more impressed by Louis’ vocals or by the way he pieced it all together. (Because Louis’ voice is angelic, just as Harry had always suspected, light yet powerful at the same time.)

_“I'm sorry if I say, "I need you."_  
But I don't care,  
I'm not scared of love.  
'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker.  
Is that so wrong?  
Is it so wrong  
That you make me strong?”

Harry wonders if he had any indirect part in this new song. It makes him want to curl into a ball and lie there, Louis’ arms and hot, soothing breath comforting him. It kind of already feels like he is, actually.

Louis is a vision when he sings. He closes his eyes and tilts his chin upward and the way his lips move just against the microphone, not touching but so close, makes Harry’s whole body start to quiver. He holds his hand to a stomach a lot, and it just makes him look all the more sculpted and beautiful.

_“Think of_  
How much  
Love that's been wasted.  
People always trying to escape it.  
Move on to stop their heart breaking.  
But there's nothing I'm running from.  
You make me strong.”

The song sounds a lot different like this, without the other lyrics bouncing around it and echoing off of each other. It’s simpler, more stripped down. And still, Louis owns it completely. Harry is so proud.

When Louis finishes, he wants to jump up on the stage and hug the daylights out of him, but he figures that that’s not really all that appropriate and would probably embarrass the both of them, so he just stands up and claps like a fool instead. Louis gives him a little wave and blows him a kiss and Harry wants to melt. (That’s kind of stupid, innit? He’s known Louis for five months and been with him for around four. That’s plenty of time to adjust to his affections. Melting because he _blew him a kiss_. He doesn’t care in the end, though.)

The rest of the crowd goes wild too, though, probably both because of his knock-your-socks-off performance and because Louis Tomlinson, captain of the university football team, finally up and sang at his own karaoke night.

Louis stands there awkwardly for a bit, clearly taken aback by the response, and tries to shush them again. He eventually succeeds. “Um, thank you?” He laughs nervously and grips his mic stand tighter. “For the record, that bit was dedicated to a curly-haired fresher who reluctantly sometimes goes by the name of Harold.”

Harry blushes and sinks into his seat, not from actual embarrassment but because he’s starting to feel all warm and fuzzy inside and wants to keep that feeling close. It _was_ for him, after all.

“In case you can’t tell, from all the hand-holding and leaving the dorms at odd hours and all that jazz, we’re a bit of an item.” He grins and shakes himself out. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s my boyfriend. I love him.” A few distinct “Aww!”s are heard in the crowd and Louis blushes, dropping his head and shaking his fringe out. “By the way, it was his birthday last Friday. So if you could do me a favor, on three, we’re all gonna sing Happy Birthday.”

Oh Lord. Harry slouches further in his seat and covers his face with his hands. Louis is something else, truly. Loud is definitely the proper descriptor for him. He can hear Liam laugh his arse off next to him, poking him in the side. Harry peeks out grudgingly from his hands and sees Louis counting off “1…2…3…” on his hands. The man knows no shame once he puts his mind to it, really.

Soon the whole auditorium is very loudly singing Happy Birthday to him – even Zayn, who’s wearing the biggest smirk known to mankind – and he has no choice but to acknowledge it, smiling and giving a quick wave before ducking down again. Louis finishes it dramatically with a wave of his hands and a tiny bow. “And that’s it for this week Manchester, come back soon.”

Harry sneaks into the dressing rooms, where Louis is stacking a bunch of cords, once the crowd clears out and cleanup begins. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and dips his head down to rest on his shoulder. “You’re insufferable,” he whispers, mouth toying with a few strands of his hair.

Louis giggles lightly and shifts further into him. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm. And also really, really talented. You’ve absolutely deprived us all by only opening your mouth tonight.”

“So you liked it?” Louis twists around so he’s facing Harry, pressing his palms up to his chest with a small smile.

Harry grins widely and leans in to kiss him twice. Louis’ lips are so soft. Harry would like to live in them, he thinks. “Loved it. It was amazing. Thank you. What you said was very nice, too.”

Louis’ eyes display fondness and then a glint of mischief. “And the birthday wishes?”

Harry swats him on the shoulder playfully and Louis pouts until he shakes his head. “I kid, I kid, that was very nice. Even if it slightly classified as public humiliation.”

Louis puffs his chest with pride at that last comment. “It is my job, after all, I think. At least partially.”

Harry offers him a thumbs-up, which he returns before standing up on his toes to nuzzle into Harry’s ear, his tongue and teeth darting out to knead at Harry’s earlobe gently and roughly at the same time. “Pretty sure I have a few other jobs to do, too.”

Harry groans and pushes Louis away. “So let’s get this done, then, and I can come back to yours?”

“Nope.” Louis pops the P, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and swapping their places so that Harry is pressed against the dressing counter. Louis drops to his knees, the glint in his eyes coming back in full force. He immediately gets to work on Harry’s jeans, but he puts a hand out to stop him.

“Are you sure –”

Louis looks at him with a dare in his eye and Harry is quite certain that Louis has an affinity for giving head in risky locations. He says so. “Do you get off on this?”

“Um, yes, I get off on sucking your dick, but I thought that was already well-established, Harold.” He has Harry’s jeans near his knees by now and gives them a final shove down before turning to his pants.

“Nooooo,” Harry says, more than a moan than anything else, because Louis’ hand just brushed against his cock. He’s getting hard despite himself. “I mean, the risk thing. Public. The pitch, your room in Doncaster, here…”

“Oh.” Louis pauses, his hands still gripping the waistband of Harry’s pants, clearly thinking. He looks like he’s finally realizing something. “I guess. Maybe. Ooh, we could do it onstage sometime, or maybe we could show up to a classroom way early or summat, or that abandoned trail by the arena…” He trails off, dropping one of his hands to his own crotch and palming at himself a little.

Okay, yeah, that kind of sounds like a good idea now that Harry thinks about it, and as Louis gets his pants to the same level as his jeans and Harry’s dick is exposed and more than half-hard at this point, he throws his head back and realizes that he can look across the room, into the other mirror, and see everything that’s going on. Louis’ back and his head, up in front of Harry in the _perfect_ blowjob position, Harry, standing there and looking blown-out already, one hand in Louis’ hair and the other against the counter, and yes, this is a _great_ idea.

“We’ve –” Harry stutters as Louis takes his cock in his hand and starts to warm him up, “Been meaning to – ” Ugh, he strokes his thumb over the tip of his dick and Harry’s ready to shoot out his load this very moment, he thinks, “Fuck in here –” God, this is a vision, “For a while, anyway.”

Louis grins like the Cheshire Cat and sucks just the tip of Harry’s cock into his mouth for the briefest second before pulling off with a smirk. “Exactly.”

“Tease,” Harry breathes, gently guiding Louis’ mouth back to his cock. Louis just waggles his eyebrows before going back down and taking him more fully, sinking lower and lower and sucking harder and harder.

Harry closes his eyes, squeezing them shut in concentration as he feels Louis work his tongue around his dick. “You’re so _good_ ,” he whimpers, smoothing his hands over his hair again and again and again, reveling in the softness of it.

Louis pulls off once more, his tongue dragging along the underside of Harry’s dick as he does so. He licks his lips divinely and works Harry’s cock with his hands for a moment, maintaining eye contact all the while. “All for you,” he murmurs, and Harry has to close his eyes again. Seconds later, Louis takes Harry the deepest yet, working up and down and up and down with his mouth, and _oh, God_ , Harry isn’t going to last much longer, he really didn’t know how much he needed this until Louis got it going, and –

“Harry?” Liam’s voice comes from the other side of the door, and Harry is ready to jump, yank his jeans up and help get Louis sorted when Louis doesn’t react at all, he just keeps sucking him, and of all things, he starts to rub Harry’s thighs, clearly trying to relax him or something.

Harry’s throat goes dry and looks down only to find a mischievous shine in Louis’ bright blue eyes. “Um –” Harry stutters loudly, hoping he doesn’t sound too affected. He certainly is – Louis keeps taking him deeper and deeper and emitting these low, guttural moans that he can feel right from his cock. “Gimme a minute, I’ll be right out.”

“Okay, I was just gonna ask if you were coming back to the room tonight, or going with Louis – wait, where is Louis, have you seen him?”

Harry swears that he hears the handle of the door turn, and shit, no, he blurts out, “Don’t come in! Be right out!”

Liam stays outside of the room, complaining, although the door is cracked just the slightest bit. “Harry, what are you – oh. _Oh my God_ , you rabbits, hurry the fuck up then, we need him to lock up.” The door clicks shut again and Harry can hear Liam walk away, muttering things like, “The fucking _dressing room_ ,” “I was _talking_ to him,” and “Why me?” under his breath.

Louis pulls off slowly once more and just grins up at Harry.

Harry tries to shoot him a glare but it probably comes off as incredibly fond. “You stop _now_?” he whines.

“That was funny,” Louis says, and his voice is a bit raspy, a sound that goes right back to Harry’s dick. “You were shitting your pants.”

“ _Not_ funny,” Harry pouts, gripping the edge of the counter with both hands. He needs to come, and he needs to do it _now_. He looks down and sees his still incredibly-hard dick red and shining, glistening with Louis’ spit and his own precome. “Hurry up, please, so we can go and get in bed and –”

Louis shuts him up with a pinch on the thigh. “And do what?”

“Um…” Harry’s mind goes blank as Louis kisses the tip of his dick lightly and oh so teasingly.

“C’mon, tell me while I make you come.”

Harry nods dumbly, Louis taking him in all the way once more. Harry can feel his dick nudge at the back of Louis’ throat, and, God, how is he supposed to think straight, let alone speak, then? He tries anyway. “Wanna get fucked,” he says, hands finding Louis’ hair again.

Louis nods, cock still in mouth.

“Um…” He thrusts shallowly, not really fucking into Louis’ mouth, but still giving his hips some release. “Can I ride you? Bounce on your dick until I come all over your chest and tattoo?”

Louis moans very loudly around his cock, and Harry knows that he isn’t going to be lasting much longer at all. He thrusts earnestly now, throwing his own head back and letting low noises leave his mouth, and Louis just grips his hips tightly. He comes quickly, shooting down Louis’ throat and nearly collapsing against the counter, his arms like rubber and barely holding him up.

Louis comes off and pats Harry’s softening cock lightly, pulling his pants up and tucking it back in before righting his jeans as well and zipping them up. He stands up stiffly, and the erection he’s sporting is glaringly obvious.

Harry bites his lip, looking at it with lust even though he just came. Louis nods his head toward the door, mouthing, “Soon.”

Harry smiles and kisses him full-on, tasting himself on his tongue and pressing into his swollen lips.

There’s another loud pounding at the door. “Hurry the fuck up, you sex addicts!” Niall yells.

“Coming, coming,” Louis shouts back sarcastically, taking Harry by the hand and dragging him out.

Niall is standing there with his arms crossed, Zayn and Liam poking their heads in from the stage. There’s a loud groan when they all see the messed up hair and Louis’ jeans.

“Like you wouldn’t do the same!” Louis snaps playfully, walking out of the theater with his head held high.

They stumble back to the flat quickly, Zayn opting to grab a late dinner with Liam and Niall rather than put up with Harry and Louis shagging all night.

Harry grabs a handful of Louis’ arse as he unlocks his door and they both topple into the flat. “C’mon, c’mon, Lou,” he whines lowly and needily, already throwing off his coat and shoes and striding into Louis’ room. Louis follows quickly, doing the same and just barely thinking to shut the bedroom door behind him.

“Wanna fuck you,” Louis murmurs, getting his jeans off as fast as possible, and Harry is quick to notice that his erection never fully subsided. Louis falls onto the bed, kicking his pants off from his ankles, and crawls on top of Harry, pushing his shirt up and off.

Harry whines and slips his hands up Louis’ own shirt, squeezing all over his torso and relishing the hot feeling of his skin. Louis whips it off once he tosses Harry’s aside and bends down to kiss him, doing so slowly and lazily and dragging his tongue along and through Harry’s mouth. God, Harry could do with this pace forever.

“Slow,” he mutters, coming up for air.

“What?” Louis breathes, kissing his nose.

“Wanna do this slow,” he clarifies, taking Louis’ face into his hands.

Louis’ mouth curls into half of a smirk and half of a sweet smile. He ducks his head into Harry’s ear, their bare chests pressing up against each other. Harry can feel Louis’ dick even through two pairs of jeans. “So you want me to take you apart?” he whispers, lips and tongue grazing Harry’s skin. “Take my time with you, open you up as slowly as possible, wreck you, make you fall apart, then put you together again?”

Louis’ words are impressive, and Harry is already completely hard and ready to go once he finishes his little spiel, but his tone of voice tells a different story. He’s panting as hard as Harry is, rutting against his thigh, and clearly just one step away from coming undone himself.

It’s all Harry can do but to nod mutely, eyes wide, and lean his mouth back in to Louis’. They snog slowly, getting each other even more worked up, and Harry already feels slick and sweaty, surrounded by a thick body heat. He slides his hands in between them, unbuttoning Louis’ skinnies and trying to slide them down.

“Must hurt,” he points out as Louis sits up to properly get naked.

Louis just nods his head wildly, clearly already very out of it as he shimmies out of his jeans and pants before doing the same for Harry. Louis runs his hands up and down Harry’s naked body, looking at him with a sort-of god-like worship that Harry can only hope that he’s returning.

God, Louis is so beautiful. Harry thinks that he could look at him forever. He _wants_ to look at him forever. He’s _going_ to.

Louis squeezes his hips like he did back at the theatre, but he does so softly this time, not intending to leave a bruise.

“What now?” he whispers, looking into Harry’s eyes and offering him the world.

“Mmm.” Harry shifts, feeling sweat soak into the sheets beneath him. “I could get you off first.” He reaches a hand out, groping around for Louis’ dick, but Louis grabs it and just squeezes instead.

“Wanna get off in your arse,” he insists, leaning over and kissing Harry. “Tell me what I can do for _you_.”

Harry moans and tilts his neck so Louis can mark him up there. “Open me up, then,” Harry suggests, spreading his legs wider so Louis falls in between them.

“God,” Louis whispers under his breath, propping himself up to reach across Harry to grab the lube and a condom. “Gladly.”

Harry moves to take hold of his dick and get the edge off while Louis drizzles the slick liquid over his fingers, but stops, knowing that he would be torturously teasing Louis, who’s refused the same.

“Go ahead,” Louis urges, scooting close up into Harry and spreading his legs wider, running his clean hand up and down Harry’s thighs. “Just don’t come yet, I wanna be the one to make you do that.”

Harry shakes his head, biting his lip, and gestures to Louis’ still very hard, red, and leaking cock.

“Shh,” Louis coos, rubbing at Harry’s hole with the pad of his index finger. Harry bucks up from that contact alone, needing more, but unsure about how it can get any better, even after all this time. “I’m making you feel good tonight, okay? And that’ll make me feel good. C’mon, touch yourself for me, let me watch you.”

And, well, Harry can’t exactly say no to that. He nods silently and takes his dick in hand, pumping slowly. His back arches involuntarily as his thumb brushes over the slit, and in that moment Louis presses a finger in. Harry is aroused and so relaxed that it slides right past his rim, and it seems to take little effort on Louis’ part for him to get it in further, slowly moving it in and out until he stops, his digit inserted all the way in.

“God – oh, oh – fuck, Louis,” Harry cries, his strokes becoming faster and faster until he can already feel a second orgasm of the night creeping up on him, and he can tell that Louis notices too, because he gently brushes Harry’s hand away and grips the bottom of his dick for him, staving him off for longer.

“Feels good, Hazza?” he asks, moving his finger again.

Harry closes his eyes and nods, his curls damp and pressed against his face.

Louis removes his hand gently, leaving Harry’s hard and aching cock to lie against his stomach.

“More,” Harry breathes, grinding down on the single finger already in his arse. He feels a second glide in, with a bit more of a stretch this time, but still so incredibly good and overwhelming. Louis moves them together, first in and out for a bit, slowly and languidly, and then he moves to scissor them, stretching Harry apart and wider.

“Godddd,” Harry utters, unable to string a sentence together.

“Mmm, does that feel good, Harry?” Louis asks, his voice both light and bubbly and thick with lust at the same time. “My fingers inside of you, getting you all ready to be fucked by my cock?’

Harry just groans in response.

“How does it feel?” Louis presses, clearly not giving it up. “If you tell me, I can give you another finger.”

The promise of that is enough to get Harry talking. “Better ‘n good, Lou. Great.” He takes a deep breath. “Amazing.” Another breath. “Fucking perfect, okay?”

Louis nods vigorously, clearly pleased with himself. “Definitely okay.” He shifts his legs around and, still keeping his fingers tight within Harry, brings his other hand up to roll around Harry’s nipples, squeezing them and digging into the soft, puffy skin around them with his trimmed nails.

Harry whines, bringing one of his hands up from the sheets and looping it around Louis’ neck, pulling him closer. Louis’ mouth sloppily finds his, and he simultaneously adds a third finger in, pushing deeper and curling up. Harry lets out a moan in the moment that Louis’ fingers brush against his sweet spot, sending jolts of pleasure rushing through his body.

The moan turns into a sob, and Harry smashes his lips together with Louis’ again and again, turning the act from a kiss more into a clash of the mouths, a dance between two tongues, and Louis is panting into him just as much as Harry is. Louis’ free hand finds Harry’s curls, yanking at them lightly, just enough to add another insane and unbelievable sensation to everything going on in Harry’s mind and body right now.

He keeps hitting Harry’s prostate, bringing him closer and closer to the edge each time, and Harry isn’t sure if Louis wants him to come yet or not. “Lou…” he manages to strangle out. “Lou, ‘m gonna come, you’re so good, you can fuck me now…”

“Nuh uh,” Louis insists, pressed up against Harry’s cheek. “You can come right this second. Come from my fingers, babe.” And Louis curls them again, rougher this time, and Harry’s entire body clenches up before he finally lets go, coming between the two of them. He whites out for a moment, unable to think or perceive anything, only focused on _Louis_ and on the hot pleasure throughout his body and on _Louis_ , and he’s almost screaming now, he thinks, low murmurs and moans long forgotten, and he doesn’t quite know what’s coming out of his mouth but if he had to wager a guess he’d bet that it’s something along the lines of “ _LouisLouisLouisLouis_ ,” because Louis is whispering into his ear, mumbling sweet things about how he’s right here, that Harry’s being so good for him, and to just ride it out baby, feel it all and relax, and then Louis is pulling his fingers out and Harry is whining because he’s empty again, and that’s one thing that he definitely doesn’t want to be right now.

He opens his eyes, blinking quickly, and Louis rolls off of him, ending up beside him, wiping his fingers with a tissue. He drops a hand to his own cock and gives it a few quick tugs, clearly relieving some pressure before squeezing it again to stop an impending orgasm.

Harry still isn’t completely in the clear, and he reaches a hand out to swat at Louis’ arm, getting his attention. Louis looks at him and smiles, nuzzling his face up into his curls and laughing, albeit a bit strained.

“How do you feel _now_?” he asks, lying down against his pillow.

Harry sits up, limbs loose, and rubs his legs down. He feels a bit woozy in the head and shakes it out a little. “That was really fucking good, Louis. Dunno what your fingers did. But they’re magic.”

Louis laughs brightly then, and runs a hand up and down Harry’s arm, turning it in to squeeze at his tattoos. “Stop, you’re making my ego skyrocket.”

Harry returns the laugh. “Well, you deserve it.”

Louis just _preens_ at that.

Harry returns his attention to Louis’ dick, nearly salivating at the sight and yet having pity on his boyfriend at the same time. Harry has gotten off _twice_ already, and Louis is sitting here with a record-breaking boner.

Louis picks up on it, because he just pats his lap and says, “C’mon up here, lemme get you ready again.”

Harry bites his lip and nods, clambering over onto Louis’ lap, careful not to sit directly on his dick so as not to torture him further. Louis moans when Harry settles on him, running his hands all over his body in a worshipping-like manner.

“Gonna ride me, are you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, giving Louis’ waist a squeeze. “You’re gonna fuck me so hard, Lou.”

A moan escapes Louis’ mouth. “Think you can give it a go now?”

Harry nods decisively, his arse still feeling uncomfortably empty and absolutely ready for Louis’ dick.

“Pass me the stuff then, love.”

Harry leans over and snatches the lube bottle and the condom, opening the foil wrapper and sliding it on Louis’ length himself. Louis moans again when Harry’s hand connects with his dick, his back arching and hips snapping just the slightest.

Harry smirks, loving the effect that he has on him, and slicks him up with lube as well before positioning his arse right over his cock. He sinks down slowly, still loose and pliant from Louis’ fingers, and the two of them moan in harmony as Harry goes lower and lower until his arse is flush against Louis’ hips.

“Fuck, Haz,” Louis mutters, throwing his head back and gripping Harry’s hands with his own. “So worth it,” he adds as a whisper.

Harry rolls his hips, not thrusting yet, but adjusting to Louis’ thick cock inside of him. His stamina is returning already, and he can feel his own cock start to harden again. He furrows his brow, though, feeling that they’re missing something. “Lou…” Harry implores, tapping Louis on the chest gently.

“Mmm?” Louis smiles up at him lazily, looking completely blissed out. Blissed out because of _Harry_ , and there’s nothing more amazing or hot than that, Harry thinks.

“Can you…can you spank my arse a bit? Then I’ll start moving. Doesn’t feel _right_ right now.”

Louis grins and untangles his hands from Harry’s, beckoning him to lean forward – both whimpering at the sensation it gives them, with Louis inside of him – before stretching them out and around his bum. “How many d’you want?” he asks, rubbing his skin warm and relaxed.

Harry shrugs, gently bracing his hands against Louis’ collarbones. “Dunno. I’ll tell you when.”

Louis puckers his lips and Harry goes in for the kiss, and just as they’re getting into it, sliding tongues together and all, he feels and hears a loud _crack_ on one of his arse cheeks, sending him rocking onto Louis immediately.

“How’s that?” Louis asks, their mouths still close.

“Unh,” is all Harry can manage, rocking again and abandoning his promise to wait until the spanking is over to move.

“Again?”

Harry nods frantically, relishing the _smack_ on his opposite cheek that comes after, grinding into Louis once more. Harry is fully hard again, and with all three things going on right now – the stinging arse, cock in his hole, and leaking dick – he can’t hold back and starts moaning, begging, and pleading for it.

“Louis, Louis, Lou, need to, fuck, need it now, you’re so good, _fuck_ , Louis, fuck!”

Louis hits him again, twice in a row, one right after the other. At that Harry is spurred to action, sitting up straight and bracing his hands on his thighs, and starts to bounce on Louis’ dick in earnest.

Louis gets louder at that too, gripping Harry’s hips and raising up to meet him every few thrusts, their bodies meshing and fitting together like puzzle pieces, hips slotting into each other in the most perfect way.

“Fuck,” Louis lets out, closing his eyes and pressing his head back into the pillow, and he looks like he’s in deep concentration, and it’s really the most beautiful sight – Louis fucking him, fucking him so well, but at the same time lying back and taking what Harry is giving him, and that juxtaposition just pushes Harry further, and he’s going faster than ever, whimpering and moaning and whining and yelling as he rides Louis, his dick brushing up against his prostate every now and then.

“Fuck,” Louis repeats, gripping Harry tighter, sure to leave a bruise. “Fuck, Harry, I can’t last…” He takes one hand and wraps it around Harry’s cock, starting to jerk him off rapidly and in time with their thrusts.

“ _Lou-is_ ,” Harry emphasizes, ready for Louis to come, to finally get the relief that he deserves after this entire amazing night, and he focuses on grinding and circling his hips, wanting to give him what he needs.

They come nearly synchronized, Louis letting one final moan out as he empties himself, still buried in Harry’s arse, and that absolutely sinful sound is what pushes Harry over the edge for a third time that evening, and sure enough, he comes so hard that the white streams reach up to Louis’ collarbones, dotting his black script with his traces.

Louis is near sobbing now, stammering words together in incoherent bits. “Harry, Harry, Harry, fuck, good, so so so _good_ , fuck, thank you baby, came so hard…”

Harry slumps forward and rolls to the left, barely missing getting a second load of his come on his chest. He cuddles into Louis’ side, just as blissed out and all over the place as he is, and manages to pepper his head with kisses before he turns to grin at him.

Harry can’t help but giggle as Louis’ eyes search his face happily, blue twinkling brightly. Harry manages to reach over and take the condom off for him, knotting it and wrapping it in a spare tissue before throwing it across the room and into the bin. Louis rolls over further then, and takes Harry into his arms, chests coated in come be damned, apparently.

“Gets better every time,” He murmurs into Harry’s curls.

“’M gonna be so sore tomorrow,” is all Harry can manage to get out, the stinging on his arse still lingering.

“ _Mine_ ,” Louis mouths on his neck, and Harry only giggles again at that.

“Yours,” Harry agrees. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” He rolls onto his back and takes a few deep breaths, clearly steadying himself. “God, we’re a pair of right saps, aren’t we?”

Harry stretches his arms out and nuzzles closer to Louis. “Mmhmm. But we’re right saps who have crazy, hot, amazing sex, so it doesn’t get much better than that, now does it?”

“No,” Louis agrees with a sense of finality. “It doesn’t.”


	23. Epilogue: Goodnight My Baby/Sleep Tight My Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooow so this is basically it. I was super overwhelmed finishing it last night, haha, I just started it as an off-the-cuff project back in June and never imagined I'd get close to 200k. (I'll have the extension of New Year's, in Louis' POV up within the next few days.)
> 
> (Also, just ftr, the article in the beginning is meant to be more of a sport's gossip-type magazine rather than a serious reporting article.)

**_Doncaster Rovers Sign Louis Tomlinson, Openly Gay Footballer, to Club_ **

_7 June 2013_

_Louis Tomlinson, 21 years old and soon-to-be graduate of the University of Manchester was recently signed to the DRFC. Tomlinson, a Doncaster native, played for his university’s club throughout all three years of his degree programme and was renowned captain during his third. He has received accolades of praise for his footballing skills from industry professionals throughout the country, and his most shining moment is arguably leading Manchester to defeat against longtime rival Leeds in one of the final games of his university career._

_Tomlinson, in a print interview announcing his contract, jokingly labelled himself as many things – “Footballer, first and foremost, of course, but with four younger sisters in town I’m certainly a big brother, I dabble in singing, or at least I try, boyfriend, mate, and just getting used to dropping the ‘student’ title, thankfully. I’d also like to take the opportunity to mention that I’m gay. For the record, I feel like I shouldn’t have to make that aspect of my personal life into some grand announcement, but in today’s world, well, I do.”_

_Of course, Tomlinson’s admission was only the official – his sexuality has been public knowledge in the footballing world since January of this year when rumors of a relationship with fellow university student, whom a source named as Harry Styles, surfaced._

_When speaking of his decision to sign with the Rovers, though, he answered with a heart-wrenchingly emotional appeal. “You know, first and foremost, Doncaster is my home. To go from flipping burgers at Keepmoat as a kid to actually being a player there…it’s a very amazing and humbling opportunity, and one I’m quite grateful for. I’ve been away for home for the past three years and I’m thrilled to return and be able to watch my sisters grow up.”_

_Looking forward to the future, Tomlinson announced that he “hasn’t ruled out” going for major leagues but that it’s a “long ways off” and that he wants nothing more than to kick off and live out his career in Doncaster for the time being. To which we say, congratulations Louis. We can’t help but look back, though, on the plentiful recruitment speculation throughout last fall where clubs such as Manchester and Chelsea were being thrown around as potentials for him right off the bat. As his skills on the pitch have only improved since then, it’s clear that his desire to come out professionally and personally before even signing to a team heavily influenced his career opportunities._

_Needless to say, Doncaster hit a stroke of luck with this footballer and should be nothing but grateful to have him. Perhaps his talent and the worldwide attention that his personal identity will bring to the club will raise it out of its recurring slump._

“It’s _good_ , Louis, they’re all _good_!” Harry exclaims as he closes the magazine and waves it in his boyfriend’s face. “‘Doncaster hit a stroke of luck with this footballer and should be nothing but grateful to have him,’” Harry quotes with a proud and self-satisfied smirk.

Louis’ eyes flicker toward Harry and the magazine as he keeps his head turned toward the freeway and a smile starts to creep up his face. “Okay. You win. They’re good, worth reading.”

“Told you,” Harry emphasizes, pleased with the ego boost that he gave Louis for the time being and kicking back in the front seat.

“Oi!” Louis reaches a hand out and slaps at Harry’s shins, jolting them off of the dashboard. “One, that’s unsafe, if you die I’ll never forgive you. Two, this is my _car_ , Harold, don’t sully it up when I’ve not had it for a full month yet.”

“But we already messed up the back,” Harry pouts. “And Niall sat there last week, he didn’t even know, so if come is okay then so is a little trainer dirt.”

Louis flushes a bright read and focuses on the road again. “Sex is the exception, I can’t resist _that_. Or you.”

Harry grumbles but tucks his legs back in normally with a sly grin.

“Can you take the magazine in and show it to Mum? She kept asking after the articles but I told her I’d find some and give them to her, I didn’t want her searching.”

“Okay. But you do know that she searched anyway, I’m sure of it, and has a million and one plastered to your refrigerator, right?”

Louis sighs loudly. “I tried.”

Harry leans across and into Louis’ shoulder, if a bit uncomfortably. “Look, I know you’re scared –”

“I am _not_ scared, Harry, just…apprehensive.”

“Okay.” Harry nods willingly. “Apprehensive. And there’re arseholes out there, plenty of them, and I’m not going to try and lecture you on how to deal with that, because you know better than I. But there is _so much good_ out there too, so many people are genuinely _happy_ for you, and happy for what this means for equality everywhere, across Europe, even over in America, and you should be so proud of that, and I know that you are. I’m proud of you. Focus on that, please, try your best.”

Louis sighs again, although he relaxes back into his seat and Harry a little more this time. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “You’re right. Good things.”

Harry leans back into his own seat, hoping that Louis is going to stop stressing at least a bit. He’s been better, actually, ever since the deal had been made official and the news announced, which really only speaks to how nervous and on-edge he’d been in the month or two leading up to it all, when the reality started to hit him of how close and on-the-line everything was. They made it happen, though, Louis and David and Charles, and things have been so happy since.

“What time’s your meeting tomorrow?” Harry asks, thumbing through his phone.

“Ten. I’ll probably be gone most of the day, too, so if you want to, I dunno, meet up with Stan, or you can take the car, I’ll take Mum’s, and find a halfway meeting point with Zayn for lunch or summat…”

“Or I could spend the day with your family,” Harry offers tentatively. “If you’re okay with that, I’d really love it.” He _knows_ that Louis is okay with it, of course, and just that he’s going out of his way to try and make Harry feel welcome in Doncaster again, but Harry has been pummeling into him for the few weeks since they planned this weekend trip to the town that things are _okay_ now and that he wants nothing more than to sit around and goof off with the little girls, have tea with Jay, and anything else that may crop up with the Tomlinsons.

Louis smiles again. “Of _course_ I’m okay with that, Haz. You’re easy to please. Daisy is excited, you know, apparently she wants you to give her a baking lesson at one point or summat.”

Harry splits into a grin. “Aww, it’ll be fun then.”

Louis bounces in his seat a bit and Harry thinks that he’s magical. “Mum has something to tell me too, apparently, everyone, and she says that she’s holding off until we’re all together.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Any ideas?”

Louis shrugs. “Dan’s officially moving in, I think. According to Lottie he’s basically there all the time anyway and has a proper space in the closet and all.”

“Good, right?”

“I think it’s fantastic.”

They share a smile until a loud honk sounds behind them and Louis lets out a “Bugger off,” before turning back to the road.

“Were you gonna look at flats this trip too? Or next time?” Harry goes back to his game of Candy Crush.

Louis chuckles. “I really should go around Sunday. I made that short list, some are open for viewing this week…She keeps bugging me to live at home, though, at least for the first few weeks, or ‘until I get settled again.’”

“You know that if you go back she’ll probably never let you leave again, right?” Harry responds with a light laugh. “It’s how mums work.”

“Absolutely. So yeah, you’re right, can we wake up early on Sunday and see a few?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You need me to help you pick a flat?”

Louis just scoffs. “One can hope that you’ll be spending plenty of time there, so we can’t have you hating it, now can we?”

“I need to get a car,” Harry points out. “Dunno why I let my mum sell my old one. I mean, granted, it was an absolute piece of shit, but it moved…”

“Now that you have a job, though…”

“Yeah, hopefully by October or summat I’ll have enough put away. Until then I’ll just take the trains.”

Louis’ phone goes off with a text message, and he gestures for Harry to take a look.

_Gemma Styles_

_When are you two coming in??? Dinner tomorrow?_

“It’s my sister,” Harry says, looking up to Louis. “Why are you and my sister making plans without me?” He makes a playful, puppy-dog, pouty face.

Louis laughs loudly at that, almost like a bark, before he says, “You know that we text.”

And yes, Harry knows that they’ve actually become quite good friends, even outside of their connection with Harry, over the past few months. On one hand he finds it a bit odd, considering that Louis’ dick is up his arse every other night and that Gemma is his overly-protective older _sister_ , but on the other he’s been thrilled to see that they seemed to kick off an actual friendship with ease. Louis came to Holmes Chapel over Easter, unable to stray too far from the city due to all the paperwork and deal-finalizing that he had to do, and just as Harry had always suspected, he and Gemma were more alike than ever in person. Within half an hour of meeting they were bouncing off of the other with snarky, snappy, and witty conversation. It was great to watch.

Actually, that entire weekend home with him had been great, taking him around everywhere – the bakery especially, with Barbara cooing over him in a manner that was borderline embarrassing – and just being _there_ with _Louis_ , Harry had been on top of the world. It just made him all the more excited for round two this weekend.

“Text her back, if you don’t mind,” Louis urges. “Tomorrow night works, right?”

“Mmhmm. Seven?”

Louis shoots him a thumbs-up from the steering wheel. “Ask her where she wants to meet. Anywhere works for me, the drive is nothing.”

_Tomorrow at 7? You pick the place. –your BROTHER_

She responds within minutes.

_Gemma Styles_

_Afternoon, Harry ;) See ya tomorrow, I’ll text you an address later. Maybe I’ll find a pub. :*_

They pull into Louis’ driveway not half an hour later, the clock edging close to six, and they aren’t halfway up the walkway when the door bursts open and the twins come running out, squealing their heads off in the way only little girls can and running into their brother’s arms. Harry’s heart kind of explodes as he picks Louis’ bag off the ground for him and takes it inside.

“Harry!” Jay calls, rounding the corner and pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s so fantastic to see you again.”

He pulls away, grinning, and can’t help but notice that she is absolutely _glowing_. She looks so happy. “It’s lovely to be back. Louis’ just outside with the twins.”

She pats his arm fondly before stepping up to the threshold and calling out, “Get on in, you three, it’s scorching out there.”

The girls run in ahead of Louis and bounce up to Harry as he greets his mother.

“HiHiHiHiHiHi!” Daisy shrieks, throwing her arms around Harry’s waist as Phoebe jumps up and down energetically.

“Hello!” Harry waddles over and slightly into the living room, getting out of the way of the footpath, and crouches down to the girls’ levels. “It’s nice to see you two!”

“You too!” Phoebe says, ruffling his hair, messing up his now semi-regular quiff. “Still curly. But your hair is big now, too.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Like it?”

She nods and skips back onto a couch.

“Why’d you take so long?” Daisy whines, crossing her arms. “Louis’ been back a lot.”

He laughs. “I’m sorry! I have a job now, and I have to work so I can buy a car to come visit you all once Louis moves back. But we’ll have fun this weekend, he mentioned that you wanted to do some baking?” He stands up as Louis passes by with a wink, and Daisy tugs on his hand, leading him down the hall.

“Yes. What do you make that tastes best?”

“Hmm. We could do biscuits. You can decorate them once they’re baked, too.”

She claps her hands in delight.

“A drink, Harry?” Jay offers him a glass of water and he accepts it with thanks. (Sure enough, news and sports articles about Louis’ success are plastered all across the refrigerator.)

“Where are the others?” Louis asks, leaning against the counter beside Harry. He loops his fingers through Harry’s belt loop and tugs him in closer.

“Oh, they’re out with friends, and Dan’s running late at the hospital. I have lasagna in the oven, and thought we’d have dinner around eight, if you can hold off until then?”

“Yeah, perfect Mum, thanks.” Louis lets go of Harry and moves to pick up their bags, gesturing toward the staircase. “Gonna put our bags down now, yeah?”

Harry follows, but pauses when they reach the end of the hall. He realizes that nothing was ever actually said if he’d be in Louis’ room or not.

“What’re you waiting for?” Louis asks, already in his room with a head popped out.

“Um, should I…?”

He just rolls his eyes and reaches a hand out to grab at Harry and tug him in. “Don’t be silly. It was me who insisted otherwise last time, she doesn’t care.”

Harry follows him inside of the room gladly, then, and Louis tosses their duffels on top of a low-lying bookcase at the foot of his bed before kicking his shoes off and lying down. Harry does the same and spoons into Louis, breathing into his hair deeply. It hits him – for probably the fourth time in the past week, but still, it hits hard nonetheless – that within the month Louis is going to be here in Doncaster for good and without him. He’s been trying his very best not to be upset about it, at least visibly, because this is such a good thing for Louis, and an hour’s drive or train ride isn’t the worst that it could be at all, but still. He’s going to miss Louis being a ten-minute walk away, and even more so, although it will be nice for Louis to have his own flat, he’s going to miss the overall dynamic that their little group had this year.

Liam is staying in Manchester for the summer as well, and once Louis moves out he’s moving all his things in and signing onto Zayn’s lease right away. (They haven’t heard the end of how they have to disinfect, clean, and purify the room for him before he brings his belongings in, and how he’s such a good soul for taking that bedroom up, he’s quite sure that no one else would want it after all the fucking they’ve done in there.) Niall will be moving into Harry and Liam’s room after that for the remainder of the summer, and soon they have to find their own flat for the fall. He’s happy to be living with him of course, and moving in with Louis had he stayed in Manchester probably wouldn’t have been the best thing for them just yet anyway, but he still feels _off_ about not being close to Louis anymore.

“Gonna miss you,” Louis whispers, echoing Harry’s thoughts for him.

Harry pulls him in closer, slinging a leg casually over his. “Yeah. Me too,” he lets out softly.

“Let’s make a deal,” Louis starts, angling his head so he can look directly at Harry.

Harry nods slowly, brushing Louis’ fringe out of his eyes. “Hit me.” They both freeze for a moment, realizing what Harry said, and he swears that he sees Louis’ eyes darken with a bit of lust for a split second there before they burst into a fit of giggles and Harry buries his face in Louis’ neck while he pulls himself together again and comes back up desperately trying to keep a somber face. “No, really, go.”

“Okay. Like, can we put a limit on the amount of time we’re allowed to go without seeing each other? Because I think that if we don’t it’d be easy to get caught up in everything busy and keep making excuses and before I know it it’ll be Christmas holidays and I’ll have seen you maybe four times, and that’s definitely not okay with me. Is that good, you think?”

Harry leans down again to press his mouth against Louis’ cheek, smiling into it and holding their open hands together. Louis’ earnestness is all a bit heart-wrenching, really, and Harry detects a bit of sadness behind his eyes as well. He might be feeling the same way, but he just wants to kiss it away. “That’s good,” he answers. “You know, thanks for saying that.”

Louis laughs nervously. “As much as it’s for your sake too, Hazza, I have to admit that it’s just really selfish on my part, mostly.”

“So how long?” Harry asks, still dotting kisses along his cheek and neck. “I mean, like, you’re gonna be traveling and stuff…”

“Two weeks?” Louis suggests. “As far as I know the team doesn’t have trips that long, except for our training in Portugal late next month that’s for three. But that’s all.”

“Two weeks is good,” Harry agrees.

“And I mean, we can change that later. ‘S just to start for now. And I think that it’ll probably be pushing it, for the most part, because what I had in mind for an ideal world during most of the term, major games or exams aside, would be, like, alternating coming up and down every weekend, or if I can, the middle of the week. Yeah?”

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “Definitely.”

“Good,” Louis declares, rolling flat onto his back and arching his chin up for a proper kiss, which Harry is more than happy to oblige him. Just as they start to get into it, though, with Louis’ hand dragging underneath Harry’s t-shirt and Harry’s tongue sliding into his mouth, a loud and impatient knock comes banging on the door.

“Louis! Let me in!” Daisy’s voice calls out.

Louis groans just lowly enough that she won’t be able to pick up on it as Harry rolls off of him. Louis clambers out of his bed and unlocks the door, opening it and gesturing grandly inside.

She just sticks her tongue out and comes in with her arms crossed, leaning against his dresser. Louis leaves the door half-open and crosses back over to the bed, plopping on the edge. Harry kicks his feet onto Louis’ lap and gives Daisy a sweet smile.

“Are you sharing that bed? It’s small and Harry is big. We have a guest room you know, Harry, if you start to cramp up.”

He can’t help but laugh at her caring concern. “I think I’ll be okay, but I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks, love.”

She shrugs, her arms still crossed.

“Nope,” Louis announces gleefully. “Harry isn’t allowed to stay in the other room, because he has to be here and cuddle with me all night. He’s like a very big and warm pillow, you know.”

Harry gives Louis’ thigh a playful kick but at least their antics elicit a giggle out of the grumpy child.

“Why’re you upset?” Louis asks.

She takes it as an invitation to get on the bed as well, crawling behind Louis and sitting in between them. “Phoebe’s being mean.” She looks at Harry knowingly. “Older sister things.”

He laughs and pats her on the back. “Did you know that Gemma and Louis talk behind my back sometimes? Older sisters are very sneaky and mischievous.”

Louis scoffs in defense of himself but Harry can see the fond and grateful twinkle of his eyes behind the smirk.

“She took my favorite bottle of nail varnish and spilled it in the toilet.”

“Oh.” Harry furrows his eyebrows, pretending to look indignant on Daisy’s behalf.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean to, Button,” Louis says. “Did she apologize?”

“Nuh uh.” Daisy shakes her head in an emphatic ‘no.’

“Tell her that Louis said to apologize, then.”

She sighs heavily and climbs out of the bed, over Harry’s legs. “I wanted my fingernails to be that glittery light yellow. Mummy only lets us use light colors for now, she says that we can get dark red and blue and purple when we’re Fizzy’s age.” She points that last bit out to Harry as an explanation.

“Do you have any other colors?” Harry asks, sitting up straight.

Daisy twists her face in concentration. “I have a rosy pink.”

Harry nods encouragingly. “Do that one, then, I’m sure it will be very pretty.”

“But I’m not going to let her touch it now, and I don’t want to do it alone. Fizzy and Lottie don’t count because they never do it with me, only their friends.”

“I will,” Harry volunteers. “I like nail varnish. And if you don’t trust Phoebe with it, I’ll paint it on for her so we can all do it together.” He can feel Louis cock his head in curiosity right next to him, but he doesn’t say anything. And, well, Harry actually does use it, is the thing. Or did. He’d always goofed off with it in secondary school, although he mostly wore it during weekends and holidays. To be honest, having color at his fingertips always brightened his day and it was a nice reminder of pretty things in random moments. Like tattoos, kind of, but less permanent and far more versatile. It just wasn’t on his radar in Manchester during the school year.

“But you’re a boy!” Daisy exclaims, giggling. “Nail varnish is for girls!”

He opens his mouth to calmly protest, but Louis beats him to it. “Nope, Button, nail varnish is for people who like colors on their nails.”

“Oh.” She pauses. “That makes sense. Let’s do it, Harry, after dinner maybe.”

He gives her a thumbs-up and she strides out of the room, clearly feeling like she won the battle with her sister. When she’s gone, Louis turns to Harry. “Do you wear it?”

He shrugs. “Did, sometimes, before uni.”

Louis picks up his hand and inspects it. “Pink would be a good color on you.”

Harry giggles. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

Louis stands up and goes to his dresser, rifling around for a pair of joggers. “Oh God, no, if you like it then full speed ahead.” He drops his jeans and yanks the joggers up, and Harry has to bite his lip at the sight.

“Yeah. Thanks, then.”

“I fucking love you for who you are, yeah?” Louis insists, crossing the room again to press a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and starts to pull him back in when they’re interrupted once more.

The front door slams shut from downstairs and seconds later Lottie’s voice rings through the house, “I thought he wasn’t coming until later, where is he?!”

Harry gives Louis a gentle shove off of his lap. “Go.”

He gets up regretfully and grabs Harry’s hand to come with him. “So now that I’m moving back,” he says loudly as they start down the stairs, “it’s _now_ that everyone wants to see me?”

“Shut it,” Lottie says before pulling him into a hug.

“I’m kidding, it’s nice to see you, too.”

“Hi, Harry!” she chirps after stepping away from Louis, and much to Harry’s surprise, she hugs him as well.

“Hi,” he answers with a smile.

Off to his left, Louis is absolutely beaming.

They spend the rest of the early evening with the telly on one of the girls’ shows in the living room, Harry and Louis on the couch and peering over Louis’ laptop, making a list of flats to call up and tour over the weekend.

“I really think I like this one,” Louis says as he opens a new tab. “It comes with kitchen appliances and everything.”

“It’s just a studio, though,” Harry points out. “And it’s kind of expensive for one room and a toilet.”

“If you lived at home you wouldn’t have to worry about one-room flats!” Jay calls from the kitchen, clearly picking up on their conversation.

“If I lived at home I’d never get a chance to be _in_ a room by myself!” Louis shoots back, throwing his head over the couch and toward her.

“Look, this one has the living room and kitchen basically together but still has a bedroom,” Harry points out, pulling up a new page. “And it has a dishwasher, too, I know that’s what you were looking for in the other.”

Louis grumbles indignantly.

“It’s only five miles out from the stadium,” Harry adds.

Louis takes a closer look, pursing his lips. “Affordable, I think,” he says. “The building is rather pretty, too.”

“They give you a parking space.”

“Okay.” Louis takes the phone number provided down into his own phone. “I’ll call them in the morning and we can go on Sunday.”

“Kids!” Jay calls again. “Come sit, we’re ready to eat.”

Louis sighs and closes his laptop, turning to look at Harry. “Should we not go? Or are we still ‘kids’?”

Harry laughs and stands up. “Mum calls me ‘baby’ so you’re still one step ahead of me.”

They go in and sit at the table, Harry placed between Louis and Lottie.

“So Harry,” she says, passing him the salad bowl. She’s grinning, and he sees that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. “Do you have any younger brothers?”

He breaks into a fit of giggles, Louis blinking beside him.

“Oh my God, I’m joking!” she says, leaning across and staring her brother down. “You know, because –”

Louis rolls his eyes and goes back to the salad.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Harry says reassuringly. “You’re funny.”

“Harry doesn’t have any brothers,” Daisy pipes up from the other side of the table. “He has an older sister.”

“Thanks, Daisy,” she responds dryly.

Jay coughs and grabs the attention of everyone else, sharing a glance with Dan across from her before she speaks. “Speaking of,” she starts. “I said that I had something to tell you. We, that is.”

Louis sits up straighter in his chair and leans in.

“We’re getting married!” she bursts out without delay, splitting into a grin from ear to ear.

Louis’ jaw drops as the girls squeal. “I didn’t –” he starts, clearly trying to form words. “Wasn’t expecting this! But this is so exciting!”

Harry nods in agreement. “Congratulations!”

Louis turns to his left and holds his hand out to Dan, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m really so happy. Welcome to the family.”

“Can I be Maid of Honor?” Fizzy interjects immediately.

“No, I’m older, it’s me,” Lottie insists.

Jay just shrugs. “Two would be nice, I think.”

“When?” Louis asks.

“Oh, probably a year or so,” she says, making eye contact with Dan again. “We’ll be quite busy before then. Give everything time to settle down.”

Everyone just stares.

“Oh, is it really that hard to pick up on?” she says with an air of disappointment. “I’m pregnant, with another set of twins.”

Louis’ jaw _really_ drops this time. “ _What?_ ”

“Yes, just over two months along now! We found out last week.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lottie squeals indignantly.

“Because I wanted Louis to be here, too.”

“ _Twins?_ ” Louis still looks a bit dazed.

 “Babies!” Phoebe squeals, bouncing in her seat.

“I can babysit, right?” Louis asks, the news clearly starting to process in his brain now.

Jay laughs. “Of course. I’ll be _asking_ you to babysit them.”

Louis turns to Harry, blinking with raised eyebrows.

“Babies!” Harry says with a grin, echoing Phoebe.

“I fucking love kids,” Louis says, turning back to his food and slapping a hand over his mouth two seconds too late.

Jay closes her eyes and breathes deeply for a few moments, Lottie and Fizzy burst into giggles, which Dan joins in on, the twins go bug-eyed, and Harry just drops his head on the table.

“Language!” Jay finally says, before going back to her dinner.

“You have a filter,” Louis says, patting Harry’s thigh under the table. “So you’ll have to come up when I take care of them, make sure I don’t corrupt them or anything.”

“Yes,” Harry says with a grin. “Deal.”

Later that night, Harry slips back into Louis’ bedroom after taking a shower. Louis is perched on his bed, shirtless and in his joggers, wearing his black-framed glasses to boot and tapping away on his phone. “Could you get the door?” he asks, looking up and crawling under the comforter.

Harry locks it and slips out of his own joggers and t-shirt, getting into bed just in his boxers. “You’re wearing your glasses,” Harry points out, tapping the frames.

“Mmhmm. My contacts were itching. From the drive, maybe, I dunno.”

“You should fuck me in them sometime,” Harry says bluntly, eliciting a laugh out of his boyfriend.

“Okay. It’s a promise. Not tonight, though, I’m sorry, I’m just really tired from everything.”

“No, of course.” Harry wraps his arm around Louis and kisses his temple, smelling the flowery shampoo from the shower on his still-damp hair.

“Sorry for, like, dragging you out here when it’s summer and you should be out drinking every night and all that shit.”

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry says admonishingly, snuggling further into bed and giving him a squeeze. “Would you stop talking like that already?”

“You’re just a really good thing, Harry. So you deserve all the good things yourself.” He pulls the blanket up to their necks and turns in to face him.

“This _is_ a good thing. And it seems like a lot of other things are really good right now, too.”

“Mmm.” Louis closes his eyes and his glasses bump up against his hand. He looks sort of angelic, in this moment. “That’s still kind of crazy. I mean, I’m so thrilled that they’re getting married, and I think that even though she’s pregnant they seem happy about it, but _twins_? Like, I’m gonna have six siblings.”

“’M not lying about loving babies,” Harry insists. “I’ll drive up myself and watch them if you need someone, deck them out in band shirts and play good music for them and everything.”

“You’re so cute,” Louis says, propping up slightly to kiss him. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too. Can you imagine, though, just spending the day taking care of two little babies? That would be the best day ever, I think. With you, too, in your flat, that would be so much fun, just –”

“Getting proper domestic, are we?”

Harry blushes. He realizes what he just implied, wanting to play house with Louis and children for a day, and while he knows that right now, that’s what he wants someday, it’s not really anything they’ve talked about yet. Christ, they’re just focusing on figuring out how to see each other come Louis’ move.

“I like it,” Louis adds. “You, me, the flat, kids. Okay, so they’re my siblings, but practice?”

Harry giggles, reaching a hand out to brush a lock of Louis’ hair behind his ear and tucks it under his glasses. “Okay. I’ll have babies with you, Louis.”

Louis giggles in return, his eyes crinkling up behind his lenses and his entire face turns into an orb of light and joy. Harry doesn’t think that he’s ever seen him this light, carefree, and genuinely happy without abandon or worry since they’ve known each other. He also thinks that it’s been the greatest personal development that he’s been privileged to witness, let alone walk through with him. Harry is so enamored in his own thoughts that he almost misses Louis’ next comment, and in the end, he is so, so grateful that he doesn’t.

“And I’d marry you, Harry,” Louis lets out, barely above a whisper. He looks back at him expectantly, waiting for a reaction, with his eyebrows raised. “Because it rhymes?” he adds, when Harry is sort of stunned into silence by the confession and doesn’t reply right away.

“I don’t care for poetry,” Harry whispers as he leans in and kisses him full on, pulling him closer than ever. He feels Louis’ heat and exuberance radiate around him.

This time, Harry thinks, he can see the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over here! If you read the next chapter keep in mind it's just an addition, and I thought it was important to the flow of Harry's POV for it to be tacked on at the end.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed it and that it didn't rot your teeth too much in the end! Hopefully the resolution was realistic enough, too. I'll mark it as completed once I get the extra bit posted.


	24. It Is What It Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is - just as my summer ends at 8:10 PM tonight. :P I hope you enjoy it, and that this last part is worth it. I'd love it if you let me know!

Louis is _not_ in a good place right now. He had too much to drink. Waaaay too much to drink, and now he’s bent over Stan’s toilet at half two in the morning on January first, 2013. He shouldn’t have pregamed like he had, but it was, well, tradition. He should have paced himself, played proper host, but again, he just wanted to fucking let go for once, is that too much to ask? He’s been so stressed lately and under so much pressure, he just wanted to forget a little and party it up with his best mates.

He’s sobering up a little now, thankfully, and praises Zayn’s foresight to stock the toilet with a case of water bottles. He opens one and drinks it down, trying to slosh both the taste of vomit and of Eleanor out of his mouth. Yeah…that. He doesn’t want to go there in his mind right now. In hindsight, it probably didn’t look all that convincing to Hannah, you know, grabbing your girlfriend the minute after you see your ex who knows you’re gay…Bad idea. But she left eventually, it seems, and hadn’t sought him out again, so that’s good.

Another person he hasn’t seen in a while is Harry, actually, and Louis is a little disappointed at that. He looked for him at a quarter to midnight, wanted to get him alone in a toilet or bedroom for even five minutes, because he _had_ been a bit neglectful, but he was nowhere to be found. But Stan’s house is big, and Louis’ mind wasn’t really in the right place to go searching him out, so he figured that he’d went off with Niall or something.

People should either be leaving or settling down to sleep now, actually, and Louis is a bit more sober, he should go find him. After he drinks another bottle of water.

There comes a knock on the door.

“Harry?” Liam’s voice calls through.

“’S Louis,” he slurs, water dribbling down his chin as he moves to cap the bottle.

“Is Harry with you?”

“No.” Louis steps over, opening the door, only to be faced with a very worried Liam Payne. “Why?”

“’Cause I can’t find him. Niall ‘n I have been looking for like ten minutes, the house has cleared out a bit now, have you seen ‘im?”

Louis scrunches his face, thinking. “Haven’t since…like, before midnight. I looked but figured he was with you lot.” He steps out into the hallway, heading back to the living room, and flags Zayn down, Liam following him. “Zayn!”

“Yeah? I’m gonna go sleep. In the car, I think, people are fucking in the bedroom I was planning on.”

“Where’s Harry?” Liam blurts out, still fretting.

“I thought he was with you.”

“No! Niall and I have been looking for a while. When did you see him last?”

Zayn thinks for a moment too and then points at Louis. “When you were snogging her.”

Louis stomps his foot. That really wasn’t necessary. “You know I had to –”

“What?” Niall butts in as only he can. “Who were you snogging, Louis?”

“ _Eleanor_ , for Christ’s sake, who the fuck else? You wouldn’t get it, I was put on the spot, I had to –”

“It doesn’t matter!” Zayn cries out, his voice rising above everyone else. “Just find Harry fucking Styles so we can sleep!”

“Yeah, no. He’s not in this house. I’ve been through it like three times. And, uh, he isn’t picking up, either,” Niall says jumpily, looking at Louis like he’s scared of him.

“What do you mean he isn’t here? Did he tell anyone he was leaving?” Louis is furious. Everyone knew that he couldn’t hover around Harry tonight. These idiots, who were supposed to be his friends, lost his fucking boyfriend.

All three shake their head no.

“Well, any texts?”

Everyone checks their phone. No luck.

Louis is starting to sweat now, and he’s sobering up even more quickly than before. This isn’t good. “Harry was really drunk, you guys.” He fumbles for his own phone and dials up Harry as fast as he can. It rings. And rings. And rings. And then goes to voicemail. “Harry,” he says, leaving a message. “We, like, don’t know where you are. So just give us a call when you get this. Preferably sooner than later. Like, now. Please. Talk to you soon.” His voice only shakes a little.

“Do we wait for him?” Liam asks.

“Well I’m not going to sleep if he’s missing,” Louis shoots back with snark.

“Not what I meant. Do we wait here, or do we go looking?”

“I mean, we could wait a while longer…” Niall suggests. “Not like any of us can drive now anyway.”

“Right, but if the last time I saw him was before midnight then chances are he’s been gone for a while,” Zayn points out.

Louis is starting to feel lightheaded. “I looked for him at quarter to twelve,” he points out again. “I couldn’t find him then. He could have been gone for like three hours by now.” He starts pacing around, running a hand through his hair. “Where the fuck would he go? What got into him?”

“Listen, just calm down,” Liam urges. “You won’t do him any good by getting worked up.”

“But it’s fucking freezing out, it’s snowing, he’s wasted, he isn’t fucking here or picking up!” Louis snaps.

“Maybe he went back to your house. It’s kind of walkable,” Niall says.

“Right.” Louis breathes a little. “Yeah, right, he probably got tired and wasn’t thinking of spending the night here or whatever and went home. I’ll call my mother.” He goes to take his phone out again and is about to go to his mother’s contact when Zayn stops him.

“I just want you to realize, for a second,” he says, putting two hands on Louis’ shoulders and steering him so he’s leaning against the back of the couch. “He saw that. You, Hannah, Eleanor. Louis…”

“What, you think that’s why he left? No. He knows, he knows that I didn’t do it because I wanted to, or whatever, I had to, I had –”

Zayn cuts him off. “Louis, that doesn’t mean he has to like it. You do know you weren’t being the kindest, or the most caring to him tonight, right? Blame it on the liquor, I don’t care, just be fucking aware of it. And then for him to see that. Also, fucking thank me, you know full well the reason she didn’t go and out you to the whole damn party is because I took her out of there.”

“You left Harry?”

“Yes, you idiot, I’d told you that already. I had to choose, I wasn’t sure how it would affect him, but, like, it obviously did…”

“No.” Louis crosses his arms and looks pointedly away, refusing to stare directly at Zayn. “He went home. To my house.”

“Without telling us,” Niall says softly. “Without texting anyone. Before midnight.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Horan,” Louis snaps again, and finally calls his mother.

“Hi Mum,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Louis?” her voice is barely above a whisper, and yes, he feels bad for calling near three in the morning, but he doesn’t know what else to do. “Why are you calling?”

“Mum, Harry came back, right? He’s, like, asleep in the den, or whatever.”

“What? I don’t know. He wasn’t here at midnight. We went to bed at one, we haven’t seen him.” Louis’ gut sinks. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“Just check the den, please.” He flashes a grin to his friends, although he can only imagine how cheap it looks.

His mother audibly sighs and he hears her footsteps move. “Did you text him?” she asks.

“Yeah, but if he’s asleep then he wouldn’t answer, would he?”

A minute later her voice comes through again. “He’s not in the den, Louis.”

“Well then he must be in the living room. Or one of the bedrooms upstairs, maybe.”

“Louis, he isn’t in the house. I checked on my way down.”

Louis feels everything in his stomach – which isn’t much but bile – start to come up again. “No, he has to be. He’s not here, Niall and Liam looked, so he’s at home.”

“Louis,” his mother repeats, more softly this time. “Louis, if he isn’t there, at home, or answering your text messages, you need to go looking. He was drinking, right?”

“Yes,” he says, wobbly, and grips onto Zayn’s arm for support.

“None of you can drive. I can come and take one or two out. Dan is asleep right now, but if someone comes over I’m okay with leaving the girls in bed. Have Eleanor come.”

“Right. Okay.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, then.”

She hangs up, and he shoves his phone back in his pocket. “He isn’t at home,” he mumbles quietly.

Niall looks like he’s going to throw something at the wall and Liam’s going pale.

“So we’ll go find him, then,” Zayn says simply.

Louis thinks he’s going to have a panic attack. He doesn’t know what they feel like, really, but he’s pretty sure that this is it. He’s breathing quickly and trying to temper it because he doesn’t want to puke again, but he’s getting sweaty, too, and his palms are slippery, and he can’t think straight.

“Louis, calm down!” Zayn says. “You have to calm down, or it’ll just get worse.”

“Right.” He breathes once, twice, three times, and it starts to settle a little. “I have to go wake up Eleanor so she can sit with the girls. She wasn’t that gone, she should be okay to like make sure no one gets killed in their sleep or whatever.”

“Do that,” Zayn urges, letting him go.

As Louis climbs the stairs he hears Liam leave Harry another worried voicemail.

This really isn’t good.

His mother gets there within fifteen minutes, and by that point Stan and Eleanor have joined them waiting in the living room.

“I’ll stay here,” Stan says. “In case he comes back.”

“Me too,” Niall adds. “I’ll keep calling and stuff.”

“Okay.” Jay urges Louis, Zayn, Liam, and Eleanor into the car. “I’ll drop Eleanor off at the house and Zayn and Liam can go with Dan, if that sounds good?”

“Yeah, thanks, Mum,” Louis mumbles, sliding into the middle seat with Eleanor on one side and Liam on the other as Zayn ends up in the front.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Eleanor’s ear. “This is really good of you.” He drops his voice even lower. “I know you don’t have to.”

She shrugs and yawns. “It’s okay, Louis. Just get things sorted out, yeah?”

He isn’t sure if she’s talking about finding Harry or something more.

“Feel free to go back to sleep, dear,” Jay says from the driver’s seat. “I just feel better with someone else there.”

They pull up to the Tomlinson home fairly quickly and Dan is waiting out front, already dressed and car keys in his hand. Louis really owes him one. It’s kind of odd, considering that he’s only nine years older than him, but he still wants to make some sort of father-son relationship work if this turns out to be a lasting thing. He guesses that his willingness to help tonight is a good sign for that.

Liam and Zayn join him in the car as Eleanor goes inside and Louis switches to the front seat before they back out again. He and his mother ride in silence for a few minutes until she speaks up.

“Dan said he’s going to go downtown first and check the pubs. In case he went there.”

“Okay.” He takes his phone back out and starts texting Harry things like _We’re all looking for you_ and _Harry just let someone know where you are, please_ and _Listen, we’re all scared, I love you, please come back._ He just doesn’t know what else to do besides look out the window for something – What is he even looking for? – and continue to send messages.

“Louis, if he hasn’t responded to anyone so far, his phone is probably dead.”

And, well, he hadn’t thought of that. He keeps trying anyway.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“I’m just going for the more suburban part of town right now. If you have any ideas, or if he’s been anywhere he might go back to, let me know.”

“Okay.”

She glances over at him a few times before asking, “Did something happen? At the party, do you know why he left?”

Louis scoots down into his seat. He can’t start talking about this, because he’s going to start crying or throwing up, which he still hasn’t done again, and he can’t have any of that, for obvious reasons. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe if you did we’d know where to go.”

He doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

They drive around for nearly an hour, in and out of neighborhoods, passing parties and rolling down the window to ask if they’ve seen a fairly tall, curly-headed brunette boy. He’d be more embarrassed that he was driving around Doncaster with his mother on New Year’s Eve if he wasn’t so fucking worried about Harry.

He doesn’t let his mind wander to what could have happened to him. He doesn’t let his mind wander to the news stories he’s heard before about what happens to drunken uni students on holiday who get separated from their friends. (Except he does.)

He just needs Harry here right now, where he can run up to him and hug him and whisper in his ear about how much he loves him and missed him and how he should never go anywhere without telling anyone ever again because he’ll miss him too much.

Harry is such a good fucking person, he can’t be hurt or lost or worried himself, or anything, really, he just deserves to be safe forever.

As the digital clock in the car hits four, his mother asks, “Where did you go? The other day, you and he went somewhere, right?”

Right. Louis wishes that he was in a state of mind where he could think fully clearly and logically. It isn’t even due to the alcohol at this point, more just fear and nerves and anxiety and the lack of a Harry. But the other day. Him and Harry. Where did they go?

“Hall Cross, Mum,” he says, remembering. “Before we met with the others for lunch, they didn’t want to come early, we just stopped by there quick.”

He realizes that that might sound weird, but she doesn’t question it. “Okay. That isn’t far from Stan’s, he might have walked there.”

They’re at the schoolyard within fifteen minutes, and there’s no sign of Harry from the front.

“I don’t see him, baby,” Jay says.

Louis is already unbuckling his seatbelt. “He might be around back.”

“Do you want me to park and come with you?”

“No, I’ll just – just go look, wait here.”

He clambers out of the car as quickly as possible, tripping over his limbs a little after sitting for so long. It’s snowed quite a bit by now, and it’s only gotten heavier since midnight. He rounds on the pitch quickly, but it’s defiantly white. There’s no trace of Harry, in his black coat or blue shirt or brown locks, anywhere. He isn’t on the pitch, he isn’t sitting on the bleachers, and when Louis checks in a last-ditch effort, he isn’t under the bleachers, either.

He’s not there.

He isn’t fucking there.

Louis fucking lost Harry at a party that he invited him to. After ignoring him all night and snogging his beard right in front of him. (In Louis’ defense, he hadn’t realized that Harry had seen. But in all honesty, it wouldn’t have changed his reaction. He saw Hannah and freaked out and did what he thought he had to do.)

He wants to crumple into the snow and lie there and die. But he doesn’t, because he has to know that Harry’s okay, and he can’t do that if he’s dead.

So he goes back to his mother, getting in the car and curling up into a ball on the seat.

“Louis, where to now?”

He doesn’t answer. He wants to say “I don’t know, we could try retracing our path,” or something like that, but he has an awful, awful feeling that so much more would come spilling out of his mouth if he opens it. So he presses his head to his knees, still curled up, and tries to ride it out.

“Louis,” Jay says, rubbing his back. “Louis, if something happened, just tell me, it could help.”

He starts crying now, crying in earnest, at the touch from his mother.

“Can you talk right now?”

He shakes his head no, still bowed to his knees.

She sits in silence then, holding him close.

After a few minutes, she speaks again, more softly this time. “You do love him, don’t you?”

And that’s where the sobs break out.

“Louis, it’s okay, you have to calm down. It won’t do any good for anyone if you’re a mess like this.”

He brings his head up and starts wiping furiously at his face, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. He can’t exactly sneak his way out of this conversation now.

“Is that what this is about? Why he left?”

“I don’t know,” he wails, taking the tissue she offers and rubbing harshly at his eyes with it. “No one knows why he left.”

“Does he know?” she asks, still gently. “How you feel about him?”

Christ, if it’s possible for Louis to get more worked up and upset, he does now. He’s quite certain that he’s going to throw up again, that he’ll have to swing the door open and vomit right in the parking lot, the bushes, of his old school. He doesn’t. He wishes that he would at this point, maybe it would provide a bit more of a release, but no such luck.

“Mum – I – we’re…we’re, like, together.” And at that admission, it’s as if the floodgates of everything he’s been bottling up for the last four _years_ , let alone four days, open. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s a mess, everything’s a mess, and I should have told you. I didn’t want you to worry. You have so much on your plate. You don’t have to worry about me or my future or any of the shit that I have to deal with. It’s just – I guess I – it wasn’t –” He starts sputtering and getting worked up again and just stops talking, bringing his head back to his knees.

“Louis,” Jay says, and he can tell that she’s starting to tear up, too. “Louis, love, you say you didn’t want to worry me, but look how well that turned out? I want you to be able to tell me these things. I love you so much, and I only want what’s best for you. You could have come to me, you know, told me everything, and given me a boundary, if it worried you that much.”

He leans across his seat to lean into her embrace, just lying there and taking in the warmth of his mother’s hug for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Don’t apologize.”

He nods against her chest and doesn’t say another word.

After a minute she lifts her lips from his head and asks, “Louis, I don’t want to press you to tell me things you aren’t comfortable with, but I have to ask – why did you bring Eleanor home? Is she a friend?”

He sits up and grabs another tissue from the small pack in the car cup holder. He wipes at his eyes again and they feel raw now. “Mum, it’s – there’s so much, so much shit going on in my life right now.”

“If you want to tell me all of it, please, please do so, but you don’t have to. I _am_ asking for an answer as to why you brought her home, though.”

“Fucking football,” he spits out, not caring about the fact that he just dropped the f-bomb in front of his mother. “He tells me I can’t get signed anywhere without her. Without a girlfriend.”

“David?”

“Yes. He knows this stuff, Mum, I had to. And so she had to come, because I didn’t want it to look suspicious for you lot, and she had to make an appearance at the party.”

Jay nods slowly, bringing her hand up to push his fringe out of his eyes. She looks at him for a moment, her eyes still glistening. Then, she murmurs lovingly, “Harry is such a wonderful young man. I am so proud of you and your judgment in partners, Louis.”

It’s like a punch to the gut, and what’s worse is that he should be smiling and hugging her and laughing, like a thousand pounds have been lifted off of his shoulders. Instead, the reminder of Harry just brings him back to the fact that his relationship is, more likely than not, completely fucked, and that Harry is still missing.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I fucked it up. I must’ve fucked it up.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened last night?”

Louis laughs, hollowly and dryly, and sits upright in his seat, facing forward. “I don’t even know. I mean, maybe. There may have been one thing. I don’t even remember all that well right now. But we have to find him, Mum, he has to be okay, he can’t be hurt, he –”

He’s getting worked up again.

“Louis, I don’t think he’s in this area. Look, love, it’s half four. Let’s go home. We’ll call the police in the morning if he still hasn’t called or turned up.”

Louis’ face goes white at the suggestion. “No, no, it’s not that bad, no –”

She looks at him sadly. “Again, if he doesn’t turn up by eight or nine. It would be that bad, Louis. Do you have any way to contact his family?”

“No…”

“Niall, or Liam?”

“They don’t.”

She sighs and starts to pull out of the car park. “All right, then. There’s no use sitting here.”

A minute into the drive back home, Louis blurts out, “He wasn’t closeted, you know. When I met him. He took a million steps back, just because I asked him to.”

She doesn’t turn to look at him, focusing instead on the rather snowy road, but it feels as though her eyes are boring into him all the same.

“I can only imagine that that must have been very stressful for him,” she says, barely above a murmur. “And for you. It must have been tiring.”

Louis gulps. Everything is starting to catch up to him now, all that went down at the party throughout the entire week, really, and the more he thinks about it, the deeper the feeling in his gut sinks. “What if he left?” he whispers. “For good.”

“Then you have a decision to make.”

“What?”

“Football or Harry. From the sounds of it, I think it would go beyond Harry at this point. Football or your personal life. You’ll be doing football for a long time, Louis, I think you need to recognize if you can handle it for that long.”

“Mum,” he says incredulously. “I can’t not be a footballer. I have to. For me, for you all, it’s what I have to do.”

At that, she pulls to the side of the road, even though they’re only a few blocks from the house, and stops the car. “Louis William Tomlinson,” she says, turning in her seat to face him again. He hasn’t heard her take on this serious and strong a tone in years. “Listen to me when I say this, and take it as an order from your mother. Do not, under any circumstance, make any decision about your future with us in mind in that way. You have to live your life for yourself, and you are not to make yourself miserable, or sabotage any part of your life, in the name of what you think we need. Louis, I know how protective you are of your sisters, and even of me, but you are not the parent here. You’re my son. And it’s my job to help you live the life you deserve, and I can’t do that if you’re making these decisions on behalf of everyone that really only affect you. You could very well decide that football is the most important thing in your life right now. I won’t fault you for that, it’s your talent and your passion. I could never make any sort of judgment there. But you have to make that decision for _yourself_ and for no one else. Promise me this, Louis.”

He blinks and nods. “Okay,” he whispers, a bit blown away by his mother’s monologue.

“It’s going to be okay, Louis,” she says, softer, and starts the car again. “We’re going to find Harry, and he’ll be safe.”

They get back to the house and find Dan, Zayn, and Liam back, in the same predicament that Louis and Jay were. Jay urges him to go to sleep, just for a few hours, but he refuses, sitting on the couch curled up next to Zayn. Before doing so, though, he sneaks into the den and grabs a jumper of Harry’s from his duffel, taking the Christmas one off and throwing it into a corner and then putting Harry’s on. He comes back into the living room like that and no one says anything. It smells like him, and he starts tearing up again. He’d much rather that the actual Harry was here, cuddling him, hugging him, kissing him, fuck, even just holding his hand.

“She found out,” he whispers into Zayn’s ear, and he nods, pulling him closer.

“I’d be even more worried for you if she hadn’t,” is his response.

He does drift off for a bit, against his better judgment.

*

He wakes up to screaming girls and what smells like a fry-up in the kitchen. He stands up, Zayn not next to him anymore, and rounds the corner to see his sisters at the kitchen table and Eleanor and his mother in a conversation in the kitchen.

 _Shit_. He can’t deal with that right now.

He hears Niall’s loud voice, though, pounding down the stairs with two other sets of footsteps, so he goes back into the hallway.

“Are you safe?” Niall yells, rather forcefully, into the phone, and Louis’ heart lurches. He immediately launches himself toward Niall, only for Zayn to grab his arm to keep him back.

“But…” he protests, still making grabby hands toward the phone.

“Let him get a few words in.”

And boy, does Niall ever. He launches into a downright scolding and lecture right away, bellowing, “Where the fuck are you? The fuck did you go, you weren’t fucking anywhere, we drove everywhere, we don’t have any way to contact your fucking family! Louis even went to the fucking football field and you weren’t fucking there! Harry, you arsehole, we were about to call the police when you rang, because you still hadn’t shown up! What the fuck is your problem?!”

Niall, for all the cuddly, drunken lover-boy vibes he gives off, sure knows how to let into the people he cares about when they need it. Especially Harry, it seems.

Louis just wants to talk to him. He just wants to take the phone, walk off, and say, “Harry, love, I’m sorry for what I might have done. I love you. Just come home, please, come back and let’s make sure you’re okay.” He wants to tell him that he can come back not just as Harry, but as _Louis’_ Harry, that his mother knows and that he can tell his sisters now, too, that Eleanor is probably going to leave at some point today. If he wants, he can stay as long as he’d like, and they can be themselves at the house, Harry can play with the twins and they can stay in Louis’ room together. (Jay had been more than willing to put Louis and Eleanor up together – “You’re an adult, Louis, whatever you’d like,” – and he had been the one to insist that it ‘looked better to the girls’ if she was on her own.)

Anything. Anything that Harry wants, Louis can give to him.

But he wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t expecting Liam to pull away from the phone, cup his hand over the speaker, and say, “Louis, he’s going back to Holmes Chapel.”

Louis just reaches for the phone again, and Zayn lets him this time, but Liam puts the phone back on his ear and tells Harry, “Louis wants to talk to you…Are you _sure_?”

And then he hangs up. Louis is furious, because that’s not fair, Niall and Zayn and Liam got to talk to Harry, why can’t he? Why can’t he tell him everything, tell him that he can come back here and be treated like even closer family than he was before? He never even got a chance to tell him that it could be a little different now.

“What the fuck was that?” he says, turning on Liam.

Liam just crosses his arms and faces Louis defiantly. “I’m not going to make him speak to you if he doesn’t want to.”

“But why doesn’t he want to? I didn’t get a chance to tell him everything!”

“Louis.” Zayn takes him by the shoulders again and walks him back until he’s sitting on the couch. He sits down beside him. “I think you need to realize that he’s very, very tired of all of this. I think he reached a breaking point last night. I’m not sure that this is going to go on any further.”

Louis can’t face this. No, no, no. It doesn’t make sense, because he loves Harry, he loves Harry so much, and he knows that Harry loves him, so they have to work out in the end. They have to.

But that’s not happening right now. He has a sinking, awful, terrible feeling that he just got dumped.

He wants to cry again. He needs to. But he’s not going to do that down here, where everyone can see and hear him. He stands up, leaving Zayn on the couch, and heads to his room. Before he walks through the door, he considers ripping the jumper off and leaving it on the floor. That would be a good thing to do. It would be a step.

Louis can’t think about steps right now, though, so he leaves the jumper on and burrows as far underneath his comforter as he can and just smells it until he’s either sniffed all the Harry out of it that he can or his nose has grown accustomed to the scent.

They don’t bother him for most of the day. He drifts off fitfully a few times. His stomach finally seems to settle a little. Around six, there’s a knock on his door. He grunts in response.

“Louis, it’s me.” Jay’s voice comes from the other side.

“Unlocked,” is all he says.

She comes in and sits on his bed. “Have you slept?”

“A little.”

“You’ve probably nodded off more than you’ve felt then, it always works like that.” She reaches her hand over to brush hair out of his eyes and he turns his head to face her. “Come downstairs, please. Dan brought some takeaway pizza over.”

“I’m not hungry. Who’s here?”

“Everyone who was this morning. Eleanor is getting picked up this evening by some friends. I talked to her, you know.”

Of course. She was actually set to leave on the third, but obviously there’s no reason for her to stay now. He just nods in response.

“Niall and Liam are staying with their original travel plans, I think. Zayn mentioned that he’s willing to stay for a while if you need him.”

That might be nice. Zayn is the best kind of person to have around when you’re feeling depressed. He just sits there and smokes and listens to you yell at the world. Louis nods again.

“You need to come down and see Eleanor before she leaves, Louis.”

He pulls the blankets back over his head. “No.”

“Stop being a child. I know you’re upset, and you’re allowed to be upset, but go say thank you and goodbye to her and then come back and sulk.” She pats his leg with a bit of force before standing up. “I don’t know what you want me to tell the girls and Dan. I’ll leave that to you.”

He peeks out from under the comforter. “You can tell Dan what happened if you want. I need to thank him for helping last night. I’ll figure out what to say to the girls in time.”

She nods. “I think that’s a good plan. I’m sure Lottie, maybe Fizzy, have picked up on it after everything that happened this morning, to be honest. Come down soon.” She leaves, shutting the door behind her.

He lies there for ten minutes more before he finally gets out of bed, stumbling around dizzily for a moment. He takes his jeans off and puts a pair of joggers on, but keeps the jumper. He goes downstairs, mainly for his mother’s sake than anyone else’s. He feels like he’s given her enough grief for a while, and doesn’t want her to be cross with him.

He pulls Eleanor aside and gives her a hug, only slightly stiff, thanking her for coming down over holiday. He says that he’ll see her after exams, and if she could stop by one of the footie games that would be great.

“We’re still doing this, then?” she asks, a bit confused.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t we? Unless you don’t want to, you can say no whenever, you know.”

“I just thought – no, never mind. I’ll see you at your game. Work things out, okay?”

He laughs and the bitterness scares him a little. “Thanks for the optimism.”

He walks her to the door and before she leaves she turns back to him. “You know that you can say no, too, right? You’re partway there already. I don’t think it would be the end of the world.”

“You don’t know that. I wish that you were right, but you’re not.”

She leaves then, and he comes back into the kitchen with only Fizzy and Lottie at the counter, working on homework they were assigned over the break.

Fizzy looks up from her book. “Wasn’t she staying longer? I like her, Louis.”

“What happened this morning?” Lottie asks over her sister. “You were all upset and Mum wouldn’t tell me much. She said Harry left and you didn’t know where he was.”

“Right, but they found him, he was with his sister,” Fizzy answers.

He gets a glass of water and settles opposite them at the counter. He can do this. He doesn’t need a million narratives of his own life running in his own damn house. “I don’t know how to start this,” he admits. They’re thirteen and eleven. He shouldn’t have to spell much out to them. They should get this.

Lottie looks at him suspiciously. “Just come out with it, then, Louis, if you wanna tell us something.”

“I’ll do exactly that, then. Girls, I’m – I’m not with Eleanor. I’m with Harry. Or I was, until last night.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Lottie shrieks, leaning away from him.

“Do you have a problem with that, or something?” he asks, immediately jumping on the defensive. He really wasn’t expecting to deal with homophobia from anyone in his family.

“I have a problem with the fact that I flirted with your _boyfriend_ , that’s disgusting Louis, why didn’t anyone freaking stop me? Ew, gross, I need to go wash out my mind or something…”

Oh. Okay, she’s just being Lottie. He manages to laugh a little, and it comes out better than it did before. “Sorry, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid.”

He just shrugs.

“I’m sorry things got messed up last night. He was really nice.”

Louis nods, looking down, as his mood shrinks again.

“If you want we could watch a movie tonight or summat. Buy ice cream. I don’t know, that’s what I do with my girlfriends when they’re going through a breakup.”

He leans across the counter to kiss the top of her head. “That’s really nice of you to offer, Lotts. I don’t know. I’m going back to bed soon, I think. Maybe tomorrow.” He smiles at each of them, though a bit strained, and puts his glass in the sink, ready to go show a sign of life to his friends before going to his room.

“Wait,” Fizzy says, and she looks rather upset.

“What?”

“Why did you bring Eleanor here, then? I really liked her. I don’t think that was fair.”

His shoulders fall. “I’m sorry. It’s really, really complicated, okay? There were – _are_ , there still are – a lot of things at play that have nothing to do with you all. Football, mostly. I had to keep things consistent, both personally and professionally.”

She doesn’t look particularly satisfied, but she nods her head anyway.

“For what it’s worth, Fizz, I think she liked you two a lot as well. She wasn’t acting there.”

He finds Zayn, Liam, and Niall in the den and sprawled out on the couch and bed.

“Your mum said we could stay here until we go,” Liam says. “So I’m gonna take this bed and Zayn’ll go upstairs, that sound good to you?”

He nods, but doesn’t really get why they’re asking him. Of course it’s not a big deal. “You don’t have to treat me like a wounded deer,” he says. “I’m up. I’m walking. I just had a glass of water.”

“Did you eat?” Niall asks.

“Not hungry.” He doesn’t say that if he puts food in his system he’s just afraid that it will all come back up again.

“You’re going back to bed, aren’t you?” comes Zayn.

“Maybe.” Yes.

“We could go to the cinema,” Liam suggests. “Or do something, whatever you want.”

“I’m tired.”

“We’re worried, you know,” Zayn says. “Tell us if you need anything.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He’s starting to lose his patience. “I just got fucking dumped – actually, no, I don’t know that, because he won’t fucking talk to me – how do you expect me to be acting? Let me go wallow or whatever the hell I want to do. I appreciate you being here, but I need to be alone right now.”

They all nod mutely.

Louis turns to leave, but before he crosses through the door he turns back, dropping his voice to a soft whisper. “And what about him? He doesn’t have anyone right now. None of you lot. If I’m the one who fucked up – which again, I don’t really know the exacts of, because _he won’t talk to me_ – isn’t he gonna be in worse shape?” He feels like he shouldn’t be worried about Harry. Especially since Harry has totally cut him off for the time being. Still, though, he’s thinking of him hungover and sitting at home alone, probably hurt and grieving himself.

“It’s okay, Louis. We haven’t ditched him,” Niall reassures. “I’m gonna see if I can cancel my plane ticket.”

“I have to go home tomorrow,” Liam says. “Or I would.”

“Obviously I’m staying with you,” Zayn adds. “But you should also remember that he chose to leave. He was probably right to, but still.”

Louis sighs, turning to go before he starts to cry in front of them. “Okay. Goodnight.”

Harry doesn’t text the next day. Liam leaves, probably with Harry’s things. Louis sleeps through most of it and only gets up to take a wee. When he comes back into his bedroom, a sandwich and bag of crisps are sitting there. He eats a piece of bread off the top and three crisps before getting back in bed.

The second day, Niall leaves around noon and at least Louis is downstairs getting a drink of water when he does. Zayn is still there.

“You should get out,” Louis says, poking his friend in the back. “Don’t stick around for my sad and pathetic self. You can go home if you want.”

Zayn ruffles his hair but pulls back when he realizes how greasy it is. “Going out with Stan later. I think I’ll stick around for a few more days, mate. Please take a shower.” He crosses back into the living room and Louis follows.

“No. That’s too much effort.”

“ _Louis_.”

“He hasn’t said anything, you know. Nothing. Radio silence. What the hell am I supposed to do? Is it just over, like that, no ‘Hey, we’re done,’ nothing?” He’s starting to get upset again. He hasn’t cried in, like, six hours. It’s a new record and he’s about to break it.

Zayn just walks back over to him and pulls him into a hug. “I don’t know. We’re trying, to like, drop hints, and stuff.”

Louis pulls back immediately. “Wait, you’ve been talking to him?”

“No. But Niall’s gonna call later.”

Louis just grips him tightly for a moment before walking away and back upstairs.

“Take a shower!” Zayn calls after him.

Louis doesn’t.

Then, at least. A few hours later the grease is starting to get to him and he rinses down for a few minutes and slathers a bit of shampoo through his hair. He walks back into his room, in the same jumper and joggers, and flops into bed.

His phone buzzes with a text message. He leaves it where it is for a while, figuring that it’s a teammate or David or someone he’s in no mood for at the moment.

A good hour later, though, he hears Zayn outside of his room. “Check your phone.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. He can really only think of one thing that would make him insistent on getting through to Louis. He can’t do this. He can’t look at it and have that final nail in the coffin get smashed into the mess that is his life.

“You still there?” He calls out.

“Yes. Are you okay?”

“I didn’t. Check.”

“Do you want me to come in?”

Oh God, it is a breakup, it’s a breakup text, Louis can’t do this, he’s going to throw up, he must be dreaming. (Except if he was dreaming, Zayn would pop in and Harry would be behind him, grinning and happy and throwing himself at Louis.)

“Why would you need to do that?” He’s playing dumb, but it’s not dumb, because this isn’t happening.

“ _Louis_.”

Louis doesn’t know how Zayn can get to him like that just by saying his name. It’s weird. It isn’t right.

“I can come in.”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the guest room.”

A few more minutes pass and Louis looks at his phone anyway. It’s against his better judgment, but at the same time he knows that he needs to rip the bandage off anyway.

_Harry Styles_

_I can’t do this anymore._

And oh, God, that’s almost worse than what he was expecting. It’s worse than a message in all capitals, screaming at him for being a selfish prick. It’s worse than him saying that he doesn’t have feelings for him anymore. It’s worse than him telling him that he’s a lying, boundary-crossing arsehole.

It’s Harry telling him that they couldn’t last, that the pressure was too much, too hurtful, and he can tell from those five words alone that Harry is probably lying in bed all gross and sad just like he is. (A very small part of him _wants_ Harry to be doing that, and he’s guilty for it.)

Louis thinks that he needs to respond to him. If Harry took the effort to text him the finality of it then he should give him the same in return. He doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps it short. He needs to be accepting of this. He needs to respect the fact that he was asking far, far too much of Harry than anyone should be expected to give.

_Okay. I’m so sorry._

And he presses send, and he realizes that it could very well be the last time that he’ll ever send Harry Styles a text message.

“Zaaayyyynn,” he calls, still from bed.

He pops in a few seconds later. “Hey.”

Louis rolls over, trying not to think that he’s encroaching on Harry’s bed space. He didn’t sleep on this bed, though, so maybe it doesn’t count.

Zayn crawls in next to him. “You showered, at least.”

“Before I read it.” He rolls back over and into Zayn. “I was dumb to think I could make anything work,” he murmurs into his chest.

“I’m the one who encouraged you. If you wanna lay blame anywhere, I’m right here.”

“Not your fault,” Louis insists. “You were being a good friend. And you were right, for the most part. Harry was really good for me and I can only hope that I was good for him. It just…couldn’t work. It’s all on me.”

“Is that his jumper?”

“Yeah. Um. Maybe you could give it back to him. It would be kind of creepy for me to keep it.”

“Sure. D’you wanna take it off now?”

Louis shakes his head fervently into Zayn’s chest. “Not yet. Later. It still smells like him.”

“Okay.”

They lie like that for fifteen, twenty minutes, until Stan comes by to pick Zayn up. Stan comes up and insists that they can all stay in, order food, watch a movie, or even do nothing if Louis wants. Louis says no, insists that they get out and not wallow around and waste their holiday on him. They finally do, after a good half hour of convincing and insistence on Louis’ part.

He falls asleep again once they leave, still in the jumper. Maybe he can give it to Zayn back in Manchester.

*

As time passes, however slowly that it does, he comes to peace with what happens. He hasn’t exactly hit the angry stage of grief yet, and maybe he should be worried, but he’s more than happy to just sit in this state of perpetual sadness but recognition for the time being.

He’s grateful for the time that he had with Harry. He hopes that Harry got something out of it, too. He wishes that Harry was still with him. He wishes that maybe Harry just needed a break, a breather, and when they get back to Manchester he’ll be willing to try things again. He knows that he won’t, though. He has to accept it, he really does, and he’s trying.

It is what it is.

Daisy sits down next to him one morning, a few days after Louis’ newfound single-dom. Zayn had just left, and Louis is enjoying some inane childish cartoon. Or pretending to, at least.

“So Harry isn’t coming back soon? He didn’t spend as much time here as the others,” she asks straight away, cuddling into his side.

“Harry isn’t coming back at all,” he says, head dropping into his hands.

“Why? He didn’t like it here?”

Louis sighs and sits up, flipping the television off and staring blankly ahead at it. “He didn’t like a lot of things about being here, and he was right to feel that way.”

“Did he like me?”

“Yes, I think that he liked you very much.”

“Maybe I could draw him a picture so you can give it to him when you go back to uni, Louis.”

Louis sighs again and holds his arm around his sister. “Love, Harry and I had a fight, we won’t be seeing each other back at uni.”

“Why?”

Damn nine-year-olds and their questions. “I just did and said some things I shouldn’t have, that weren’t very fair to him. He couldn’t be around that anymore so he left. It’s important to take charge of yourself like that when you need to, button. Harry’s a smart lad.”

She wraps her arm around him. “You’re sad, I think, Louis.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, because she’s absolutely right, so he just rubs circles into her back, more for his own comfort than hers.

A few minutes of silence later, she says, “I was talking with some friends at school before holiday.”

“Yes? What were you talking about?”

“Well, my friend Martha was talking about how her sister has a girlfriend. And Phoebe and I didn’t understand that, so we asked her what she meant. She said that some girls love girls and some boys love boys.”

“That’s true.”

“I think you should love Harry. Maybe then he would feel better and come back. Eleanor is a nice lady, and all, but I think Harry makes you happier.”

Louis starts fucking crying at that, because leave it to, again, a nine-year-old to have more insight and acceptance than half the people he’s come across in his life. He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She reaches up and pats at it, confused. “You’re crying, Louis.” She reaches her little hand across them and snatches a tissue from the side table, handing it to him. “Why are you sad?”

He takes the tissue gladly and wipes at his face with it. “You’re a very smart little girl, Daisy.”

She blinks at him, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know how to explain this to you. It’s all very confusing.”

“Well you just said I’m smart.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

He ruffles her hair some more. “I did. Did you know that I do love Harry, very much?”

She breaks into a grin. “So why can’t he come back?”

“What else did you friend say when she was talking to you and Phoebs?”

Daisy shrugs. “Nothing much.”

“Okay, well, there are a lot of people who don’t like it when girls love girls or boys love boys. And a lot of times, it’s very powerful people who feel that way. So sometimes, you can’t always be open about who you love, because you feel that you have to protect those around you, or yourself.”

Her face turns to shock. “So Harry doesn’t know you love him?”

“No, no – Harry knows – he knew. You know, we called each other boyfriends for a right while.”

She stands up, hands on her hips. “You didn’t tell me. You said he was your best friend.”

“That too. But what did I just say? Harry knew, and a few of our friends knew, but a lot of those powerful people who don’t like all kinds of love are the people who make decisions in football. And football is very important to me now, and so we had to stay a bit quiet.”

She crawls back into his lap. “That sounds very sad.”

“Yeah, love, it was. It was too sad for Harry, and he was very right to think that way. So he had to go home.”

“Is that why you were upset on New Year’s Day? Is that when Harry broke up with you?”

Louis nods, the tears returning.

She hands him another tissue.  “If you say sorry will he see you again at uni?”

“I don’t think so, Button. It just wasn’t fair for me to ask Harry to do what he did. A ‘sorry’ can’t change that.”

“Oh.” She sits in his lap for a bit. “Why don’t people like that? That you love him?”

“I don’t know. I wish I knew. I wish we could change their minds.”

“I think…” she ponders, “Is anyone going to hurt you if you tell people you love Harry?”

He gives her a squeeze. “No, Daisy. I’m lucky in that I’m in a safe place. Some people aren’t, but I am. It would just make parts of my life very difficult.”

“Okay.” She bobs her head. “But other parts of your life are ‘very difficult’ –” she uses air quotes, “right now. And this difficult part is making you very sad. Phoebe and I are worried for you, Louis, we don’t like seeing you sad. And when you go back to uni we won’t be here to cuddle with you. So can you swap hard parts? So Harry is easy and football is hard.”

Louis stops and thinks about that for a second, because he has to wrap his head around it. “I don’t know if it’s like that. If it was just hard and easy I would pick Harry any day. But I think it’s more like, I can have one or the other.”

She grabs his hand and starts playing with his fingers. “You can’t have football at all if people know you love Harry?”

“I…don’t know. Not like I thought I could, at least. And, love, I hate to say this, but I think that Harry and I are done for good, regardless of what I do with football. I messed too many things up with him.”

“That’s very sad. I’ll miss Harry. But someday you might find someone who’s as nice and funny and cool as him. Do you think that person will be a girl, like Eleanor, or another boy, like Harry?”

“Definitely a boy, Daisy. The word people use to describe that, when boys only like other boys, is gay. I’m gay.” And holy fuck, the release he feels at revealing that to her is amazing. It’s the first time he’s said the words – “I’m gay” – so explicitly to anyone in his family, at all. It’s far more liberating than even admitting that he loves Harry.

“So you should fix things with football so you don’t have these problems again. Because you’re going to be a big footballer, Louis, and you’re going to be doing it for a long time, I think.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” is all he can muster.

“Who else did?”

He laughs. “Who do you think?”

She presses a finger to her lips in a thinking way. “Mummy.”

“Yep,” he nods.

She pats his leg and stands up. “Well, you have to listen to Mummy.” Then she holds her arms out for a big hug, which he accepts gladly.

“I love you so much, Daisy,” he murmurs into her shoulder.

“I love you too, Louis,” she answers.

Leave it to a nine-year-old to make the choice sound so easy.

*

He makes up his mind within five days and starts to actually do something about it on the ninth. He’s going to act first, and tell later. He did that with Harry a lot, and it was fucked up a lot of the time, but he thinks that it’s the right thing to do right now.

Speaking of “the right thing to do,” he’s started showering and eating and sleeping properly again. Once he’s set in the direction he’s going to take his life, it gets a lot easier to move on. He can’t do this if he’s a right slob.

He’s still sad, but he’s sad with a purpose. He lost Harry but he isn’t going to continually fuck his life up from here on out.

He tells his mother about the next steps and she cries and holds him.

“I’m coming out. If I can still have a career in football, then great. If not, then I’ll move on before I get in too deep and really mess myself up again.”

“I’m so happy for you, Louis. I don’t think that you could make a wrong decision in this, but I have to confess that I’m glad you’re making this one.”

And that makes him feel better.

He goes back to Manchester a few days early to sort himself out. He wants to be in his own flat when everything goes down, and he needs to decompress a little before the exam period starts.

Again, he acts before he tells, and on the evening of the ninth he calls the recruiter.

“Hello?” the man, who insisted that they work on a first-name basis, Charles, greets him.

“Hi, Charles, it’s Louis Tomlinson.”

“Louis, what’s up?”

Louis takes a deep breath and drums his fingers on his coffee table. “Listen, there are some things I have to set straight with you before we go any further, can we meet for lunch or tea or something tomorrow, you’re in town, right?”

“I am. Is everything okay with you? Not backing out at the last minute?”

“No, I’m fine, but I’d rather not get into it over the phone. I can see you tomorrow?”

They set a time and place and Louis sleeps maybe five minutes the entire night. It doesn’t help that this is the first time he’s setting foot in his room since losing Harry, and so much of his stuff is thrown into his own mess. Jumpers, jackets, books, and even a random shoe. He doesn’t know where the other one is.

Maybe he’ll ask Zayn to go through and get everything of Harry’s for him sometime next week. Then he can go and give them back to him for Louis.

Or he could man up and do it himself.

No, he’ll ask Zayn.

Louis wakes up at eleven and makes himself presentable. He’s meeting with Charles at one, so he manages to unpack a little before he heads out to the restaurant.

They shake hands over the table and sit down.

“Had a nice holiday?” Charles asks him conversationally, clearly waiting for Louis to make the first move.

“It was a full one, that’s for sure. Thank you for asking.”

The waiter fills their glasses with water and takes their orders. After he walks away, Louis jumps right in. “I’m going to be completely honest with you now, if that’s okay?”

“Go on, Louis.”

He’s a middle-aged man, probably older than David, but Louis has always liked him. He trusts him, even though he doesn’t know him particularly well, but he’s one of the best in the business. Louis knows that while his number one priority is obviously to get his athletes signed on to the biggest clubs possible, he does have a heart. So he hopes that at the very least, they can end this business deal amicably.

“I’m gay. I don’t plan on closeting myself anymore. I don’t know where we go from here, but if this is where it ends, then I’ve accepted that.”

Charles leans back in his chair, pulls a leg up onto his knee, and bites his lip. “I think we do go somewhere from here. Just perhaps somewhere different. Let’s talk.”

*

Louis feels free and on fire, in a good way, and also in an angry way. In an inflamed way. He jumps out of the cab after having paid the driver and hurries up the steps of the house, through the always-unlocked front gate. He bangs on the door, a light snowfall having started already, and he really should have brought a coat with him, but the weather was all right when he left for lunch.

No one comes to the door right away, so he knocks again, loudly.

Maybe he should have called, but the fact that his career didn’t just come crashing down around him _just yet_ pumped such a sense of adrenaline and downright anger into him that he had to go right away.

On his third set of knocks, David swings the door open, at first disgruntled but his face turns to surprise when he realizes who’s at the door.

“Louis, hi, come in, are you okay?”

“I’m not okay, I’m angry!” he says, storming into the house and facing his coach, crossing his arms and planting himself right in the hallway.

“Well, what happened, then? Here, come into the living room. Linda’s just about to leave, come say hi, she’d like to see you.”

“I’m not here to visit. I’m here to _tell_ you something.”

“Out with it then, Louis.”

“I’m gay!” he yells, with more force and drama than necessary. “I’m gay, I’m gay, I’m gay, and I haven’t fucking said that enough in my life. No matter how much you try and wish it away, it’s true and it isn’t going anywhere and _I don’t want it to_!”

David looks shell-shocked, and mostly just really confused. “I know that, what you getting at? What happened? Why are you here, screaming things that I already know at me? And what the hell do you mean, ‘try and wish it away’? Since when have I ever tried to change you?”

“Harry left me,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I fucked it up because I had my head too damn far up _your_ fucking arse.” He realizes that that statement may have been just a tad too vulgar in hindsight, and he certainly hopes that David’s wife didn’t hear it. The car in the driveway starts then, though, so thankfully, she didn’t. He sighs. “That was a bit much, but the sentiment is still true.”

David just shakes a bit, grabs Louis by the shoulders, and leads him into the living room, sitting him down on the couch and pulling a chair up to sit across from him. “Listen, I’m sorry that that happened. I’m very sorry. Do you need anything?”

“I don’t need anything from _you_ , because I already went and did what I need for me.”

“What are you on about, Louis?”

“I came out to Charles,” he says, his chin held high in the air in a move of defiance. “Just now. Called a lunch meeting with him and I did it.”

David stands up and starts pacing the room, running a hand through his hair. “Louis, and you think this is going to get him back? You don’t – do you realize what you just did? How did he even react to that?”

Louis just leans back on the couch and sprawls out. He’s feeling a bit petty at the moment, so forgive him if he doesn’t mind seeing his coach have a nervous breakdown when he already knows how things are playing out for the time being. “I’m not trying to _get him back_. I respect him and what he needs to do, okay? That doesn’t mean that I haven’t only just started showering and eating for the first time in a week, but it does mean that I’m not groveling at his fucking doorstep. But if you think that I’m willing to go through a repeat of this for the next twenty years, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

David just stares at him before repeating, “ _How did he react?_ ”

Louis takes a breath and looks up at the ceiling. “League One or Two.”

David doesn’t respond for a moment, and when Louis finally brings his head back down to take a look at him, his jaw is literally hanging open in shock. “Do you realize what you are giving up?” he asks. And he’s not yelling, he’s not screaming, he’s not reacting in his usual style at all. He whispers the question, and that’s as unnerving as anything coming out of his mouth could ever be.

Louis pauses before responding, and the glint in David’s eyes is frustrating him _so much_ right now that he stands up and walks to the other end of the living room so his back is facing his coach. He looks out the window into Manchester’s suburbia, at the two toddlers all bundled waddling around their front yard with their mother gazing on at them, at the pre-teens laughing and chasing each other down the road, and at a young couple walking down the pavement hand-in-hand.

He’d always scoffed in the face of a white-picket-fence home life. Now he realizes that that was because he never thought that he’d be able to have it. Maybe, just maybe, that’s no longer the truth.

“Do you realize what I am gaining?” he finally says, voice firm and confident.

David opens his mouth and starts to protest, but Louis doesn’t hear a word that he’s saying. He just whips around and starts letting everything out. “Don’t you _dare_ try to start in on me. Don’t you _dare_ try and tell me that I’m making the wrong decision when you have no fucking idea what any of this is like! Don’t you _dare_ try and tell me what I owe you, the team, the school, the world, because I owe no one anything but myself. Do you realize how long it’s taken for me to recognize that? And don’t you _dare_ act like the colors of my jersey will reflect my level of happiness, because as long as I’m on the pitch, I’ll be content.” He stops, panting, and once again David is left with his jaw hanging.

“ _Dare_ I say that you might not end up on the pitch at all?” he spits out, mocking him.

“I don’t give a shit!” he blurts out. “If I don’t get signed anywhere then I’ll find a job, I’ll have a degree, you know. I wasn’t here just to play football for the past three years.”

David doesn’t respond this time. He stays seated and looks deep in thought. He also looks a lot calmer than he was a moment ago, so Louis crosses the room again and sits back on the couch.

“Look, David, I’m grateful for the opportunities that you’ve given me. I’m just very confused, and hurt, that you never mentioned I could have a halfway point with these two parts of my life.”

David rubs his face in his hands and looks back up at him. “Louis, I wasn’t under that impression either. Look, in this regard, things have been changing very quickly. What’s plausible now wasn’t so a few years ago. And I have to ask again…are you really ready to give this all up? You do know that you were so, so close to making it in this very city?”

Louis just shakes his head. “Respect me, and don’t question me. That’s all I’m asking, and needing from you right now.”

The look on the face across from him tells him that his coach clearly still doesn’t fully “get it.” Louis doesn’t know if he ever will. Maybe he’ll come around eventually, but what’s done is done. And to be honest, Louis feels freer than ever right now. Lightheaded almost.

He stands up and nods his head curtly. “I’ll see you at practice.”

“Louis –”

He cuts him off. “It is what it is, yeah? And he lets himself out, hearing and feeling the whoosh of the door slamming behind him. Yes, he is lightheaded. But he wants to be grounded.

Maybe he'll never see Harry again. It's the worst case scenario, that's for sure, but he has to let the thought at least cross his mind. He also lets other thoughts cross his mind, which involve Harry finding out everything that's happening and falling into his arms and crying and kissing him, but that's also the best case scenario and is equally unlikely to happen. He's set now, sort of. Harry or no, he feels like the rest of his life is coming together. He'll hurt for a while. Once he does what he's about to do he's going to go fall into bed for the next twelve hours, probably, if not more. But maybe that's okay.

And maybe, in due time, he'll at least be able to come clean to Harry with everything. He owes him that, he thinks. He just has to figure out how to open the dialogue. There's time for that.

He starts down the street and toward the main road so he can hail a cab. While he’s waiting, he takes his phone out and goes back a few months in his call history before hitting the right number.

“Hi, do you have any appointments available for this afternoon?” he asks as soon as the receptionist picks up. “Sorry, I just figured it out.”

He doesn’t need anyone to hold his hand this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. :D (And I'm at makesmewannatsss.tumblr.com :) )


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